The Strength to Choose
by Truenorth12
Summary: Ari Mavros has never fit in with her well-heeled classmates at Beauxbatons. When the Triwizard Tournament leads her to Hogwarts, she finds a place she could belong, where she would be free to find out just who exactly she is and what it means to be true to herself. Eventual romantic side but it's not necessarily the main story plot.
1. August End

It's the last Thursday of a lazy summer, nearing the midday hour when I finally wake to a polite knocking on the door.

"Miss Mavros." The genteel voice, slightly muffled by the thick door belongs to John, resident butler and legal guardian of my estate until i am of legal age to take control of my own affairs. "Miss Mavros, you simply cannot delay any longer; your flight leaves promptly at two."

It's no big deal to ignore John and arrange for another flight, but I am looking forward to the weekend, if not necessarily what follows. So I assure him I'm really getting up this time and walk stiffly to the adjoining bathroom. A quick shower helps awaken me, though not as thoroughly as the jolts of pain as I comb through my wild hair afterwards. I dress comfortably in jeans and a sweater, both brand name, and sweep down the stairs to the dining room where John has my breakfast – or lunch, I'm not sure which – sitting at the table.

I eat most of one of Jovi's – our cook's – gigantic fluffy pancakes but I especially appreciate the tall mug of strong black coffee before me. John very elegantly carries my single, if rather large, bag down the stairs and out to the car.

I slip into the kitchen and pour the leftover coffee into a travel mug and call a farewell to Jovi. After years spent trying to soften the staff, I've long since given up on the effort, though I still try to be polite. Today Jovi's busy preparing the supper meal; a group of hikers is supposed to be coming through the area later this afternoon and have booked one of the guest houses. I can't imagine anything better than Jove's cooking after a long mountain hike,

John is already holding open the door to the rental car, ordered this morning from the town nearest to our mountain retreat.

"Thank you, John," I say. "See you next summer."

"Enjoy the school year," he replies in his way – kindly, but lacking any real warmth.

I assure him I'll try and the driver shifts into drive as John politely clicks the door shut, and before I fully realize it, my journey is beginning.

As if to forewarn me about the coming year, the weather turns sour halfway through the flight. Thankfully, the pilot decides to land before we reach the ocean jag of the route. However, by the time we are able to take off again, the delay has been so long we don't arrive in London until late Friday evening.

I am feeling weary and just a little irritable when I finally spot my friend and classmate, Jessamine Devereaux, lounging in the lobby, her chaperone standing vigilantly beside her. A second after I spot her, she lifts her gaze to mine and before I can reach her, she's off and running at me, sweeping me into a fierce hug.

"'Ow I 'ave missed you!" she exclaims, shouting practically straight into my ear. I almost lose my balance; Jessamine is willowy but considerably taller than I am, six feet, and her momentum is impressive. I struggle to stay on my feet and understand what she's yelling at me. Her strong French accent colouring her speech, I almost miss her next words. "Though I still do not know why you 'ave chosen to meet in this 'orrid city."

I grin and hand my bag off to the chaperone. "Because," I say, "we always meet in Paris. Don't you ever just want to go somewhere different?"

"Why would I," she replies haughtily, "when Paris is the greatest place to be? Still, as you say, we will go somewhere else, 'owever poor your choice is."

"You'll love it," I reassure her, admiring her inky black, perfectly styled hair. The sharp, almost edgy cut compliments her features perfectly.

"So you say," she retorts, "but 'ave you ever been 'ere?"

"I haven't been _anywhere_," I joke, rolling my eyes. Jessamine laughs because it's true in comparison to all the places she's been. "Anyway, when is Fleur getting in? And where's Alain?"

"About 'alf an 'our ago," a crystal clear voices pipes up from behind me. I forget about Alain completely as I recognize the voice. "I thought we were meeting right at the gate."

Both Jessamine and I ignore the snark in her tone and turn to include her in the embrace, devolving into a fit of girlish giggles. I even join in the frivolity, a rare occasion, and we meander slowly out to Jessamine's car, looking forward to spending the weekend together before we will be returning to school.


	2. Beauxbatons

Just a few quick words - this is the first story I've written in a long time, so forgive me if my writing sucks at times. It should get better as it goes along but if anyone notices something I could improve on in terms of the way I'm writing, even if it's just using the same few words to describe things I'd like to know so I can make the story better to read. . Also: please don't be afraid to let me know if something I've written about or described is way off from the actual story. I will be changing some things on purpose to fit my storyline but I might overlook details I don't mean to. I don't know enough French to actually write out the conversations in French as they're supposed to be. Just assume that if all the people talking are from Beauxbatons, they're doing so in French though it'll be written in English.

Thanks for reading my second chapter!

Beauxbatons

The trip back to school on Monday is no different than any other year; we three join the rest of the student body in a forest just outside Paris and climb up with the rest into the great carriages. We talk amongst ourselves as rambunctiously as we want until the carriage door opens and Madame Olympe Maxime climbs heavily into the compartment.

"Good day, ladies," she greets us cordially. Jessamine and Fleur are both remarkably tall but even they have to crane their necks up to meet Madame's gaze. "'Ow were your summers?"

"Good, thank you," we all reply.

"How was yours, Madame?" I ask. As always, I am instantly aware of my lack of an accent. I think I'm the only student who doesn't have one. Maybe that means I'm the only one who does.

"Ah, magnefique," she sighs, "but now, we are all back to work, no? I think you girls will find the coming year to be very exciting. We will 'ave many opportunities to showcase our well-taught civilities. Well, of course, well-taught for _most_ of us."

The last bit, directed at me, sends my companions into a fit of polite coughing. Jessamine elbows me and I let out an appropriately timed _oomph_ before I can defend myself. The coming year doesn't sound all that exciting if it means we will have company who expect us to be on our best behaviour.

"What is 'appening this year?" This comes from Fleur in an unassuming tone.

"Ah, well," Madame hedges, "you will just 'ave to see when we reach the school."

The horses choose that moment to jerk into motion and we spend the rest of the trip in relative silence, my companions unwilling to be at all chatty in the company of our Headmistress. I do my best not to slouch in my seat as I pull out a book to begin. The ride to school will be especially long this year.

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic never fails to impress me at the start of every year. Away in the isolation of my home in the Canadian Rockies, I forget the breathtaking majesty of the school. The gardens stretch as far as I can see, with more varieties of flowers and other greenery than I can name. The many fountains, positioned apart from one another send of jets of pure, fresh water that glisten and cast rainbows through the mist as the sun beats down on the grounds.

Just the sight makes me wish I could skip the Welcoming Feast and walk among all the beauty of the outside world. Unfortunately, Madame Maxime doesn't leave our sides as we stroll up into the academy and I don't have even the slightest opportunity to do as I please.

We are led straight to the Dining Hall, as is custom. Madame is nowhere to be seen as we all take our seats. We three are joined by a few other friends and Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle, and the hall roars with chatter and laughter as everyone tells stories about their summer adventures. I have little to add so mostly I listen as Juliet, a tiny sprite of a girl, enthuses about her trip to New Zealand. The wood nymphs, small pixie-like creatures, take their usual perches around the hall but remain silent and still as the noise in the room escalates.

Then suddenly chairs are scraping roughly against the floor and those around me are easing gracefully to their feet. Caught off-guard, I quickly rise with the rest and almost send my chair right over backwards. With a small smile, Jessamine catches the back and rights it. I send her a grateful look. No use getting reprimanded before I've even had a chance to unpack. That might set a record, even for me.

Madame Maxime, having just entered the room, glides past the tables rather gracefully for such a large person and settles herself at the front of the room. Once she's seated we all sink back down into our chairs and brace ourselves for the odious speech we hear at the beginning of each year.

As per usual, Madame welcomes the new students and begins into the speech about remembering key rules like no running in the halls and remembering the dress code, but before she gets to the part about no owls being allowed indoors, other than in the owlery, Professor Renauld leans over to whisper something in Madame's ear.

In a rare show of tolerance for an interruption, Madame nods and quickly wraps up the usual message. She clears her throat and looks across the room full of students.

"I do not know if any of you 'ave heard the rumours," she begins. I perk up in my seat at the promising beginning. "If you 'ave, zey are true – we will revive an ancient competition between our school and both 'Ogwarts and Durmstrang. Ze Triwizard Tournament, to be more specific. We will be selecting only twelve of our most promising students to journey to 'Ogwarts at the end of October to act as Beauxbatons representatives and Tournament candidates."

We all glance around the great room, eying one another, wondering who among us were the twelve chosen to go. Fleur and Jessamine, both favourites of many professors at the academy, smile at each other before remembering me and attempting a more somber look. Few professors would consider me a 'promising' pupil, a fact that doesn't escape my friends. Even the most restrained pupils stir at her words, and Madame has to clap her hands to regain our attention in the din.

"Listen, please! Out of all ze talented candidates who will be coming, only one will be selected to be the Beauxbatons Champion and compete against the champions of ze other schools in three events – dangerous events, where you will need to know high-level magic to win or even to survive. Therefore, only students seventeen years of age or older will be permitted to submit their candidacy. Please speak to Professor Brunet after dinner if you wish to be considered for the competition. We will announce the identities of ze twelve candidates after before breakfast tomorrow."

After the last bit, I feel my spirits sinking, even as my friends whisper excitedly around me. I, although only a couple years behind my friends in terms of classes, am in fact three years younger than them, meaning while they are almost guaranteed to make the journey, I am in the opposite predicament. I'll be left behind for another boring year of charms classes and etiquette lessons I'll never grasp. Still, I put on a brave face for my friends. "Oh, go on," I wave my hand at them, "you might as well both start celebrating now; we all know you'll both have your chance. If one of you is chosen as champion, though, you'd better send owls daily!"

They laugh – even Fleur – and promise to, and the wood nymphs begin their soft singing, although the noise levels in the hall as everyone discusses the news drowns out the soothing tones. I do my best to join in the merriment but escape as soon as I finish eating, sweeping quickly down the halls and out onto the lawn outside the academy. There's still someone I haven't seen since I've been back, and I won't find him in the hall.


	3. Gem

Gem

A large stable block cast in a silhouette by the setting sun overlooks the rolling hills beyond the academy lands. Fences block off pasture though they are for little more than show; enchantments along the fence reach up above the posts and close off at the top so the horses inside are contained. Looking at them, the reason for the enchantment is obvious; each animal sports a pair of white feathery wings upon its back.

I can't make out any individuals yet when I hear the familiar whinny from a younger group just off to the side of the stables. This would be the yearling pen. Quickening my pace, I hurry forward and slip through the gate. Inside, the small herd of thirteen parts as a scrappy little colt pushes his way to the front, dangerously close to bowling me over as he leans against me, nickering as though forgiving me for abandoning him for the summer.

"Ah, but Gem," I say softly, running my hand along his nose, "I didn't have a choice. You've gotten darker, even. Won't be hard to tell you apart from the others, even once you begin to grow."

He nuzzles into my hair happily as I stroke him, removing loose hair with my hand as I go. I'm right about his colouring, though; the vast majority of the horses here are a golden palomino colour, with matching white wings and mane. The only two exceptions on the grounds are also peculiar in the fact that they are twins, a very rare occurrence among any horse breed but unheard of among the Abraxan population.

Gemini, hide darker than the golden coats of his year mates makes up one half of the only recorded Abraxan twins in the history of the breed. His sister, Gemina, grazing quietly near the fence line, is an odd pure white colour. Unlike scrawny Gem, Mina stands as tall as the other colts and twice as regal. Whereas she is the most treasured foal of the past season, Gem is a write-off; the unexpected second foal that turned the number from an even twelve foals to an unlucky thirteen.

Gritren, the wizard who takes care of the stables has no plans to even train Gem and as part of an extra project, I was assigned to care for the runty horse. Though the trainers see no worth in the little horse, Gem and I bonded almost immediately and as the only human to bother to pay the young colt any sort of positive attention, he listens to me in a way that even the most well-trained Abraxan doesn't. While the breed is known to be high-strung, strong-willed and require a heavy hand, Gem obeys my commands at little more than a soft touch or quietly spoken command.

I smile at Gem in the quickly fading light. I know I should head in soon to make it to the dormitory before curfew, but I have always had a hard time forcing myself away from the herd. In an academy that emphasizes all the traits I lack, the stable has always been the one place that feels like home here.

"Ah, I 'ad 'oped to find you 'ere." I jump at the voice behind me, though none of the horses are surprised.

"Hello, Madame," I say, turning to face the headmistress. Gem rests his head on my shoulder and stands quietly by my side. "You're looking for me?"

"Yes," she says. She's quiet for a moment, observing the herd. When her eyes land on Gem, standing patiently by, she smiles. "'E is very fond of you."

"I am fond of him, too," I reply. I had planned on waiting until Madame Maxime brought up her reasons for searching me out, but when she still says nothing I can't help myself. "Have I already done something wrong, Madame?"

"Well," she says finally, meeting my gaze. "You 'ave left the 'All before the 'Eadmistress, and on the first day. A new record, I think, even for you. But zat is not why I am here. We need to discuss, of course, your lessons while I am away zis year."

"You mean my etiquette lessons," I say dejectedly.

"Your _extra_ etiquette lessons," she amends. "Despite your natural talent in other areas–" she breaks off to smile again at Gem – "you are 'orribly behind ze other students in the more delicate fields of learning. 'Ow I am to continue our extra lessons when I must be gone most of ze year, I 'ave not yet found an answer to zis…dilemma."

"We could always just not bother this year," I suggest hopefully. "Maybe some time away from the classroom will do me some good."

"It would do ze opposite," she says scornfully, shooting down my hopes. "I 'ave talked to ze other professors but none will 'ave the time to take over for me. I am at a loss."

Gem blows out a deep sigh against my neck the same time inspiration strikes. "Take me with you, then."

"What do you mean, take you with me? You are too young for ze tournament!"

"Not to compete," I say, excitement growing. "I could just take my regular classes with the other students at Hogwarts and when you have spare time, we can continue lessons after my classes, just like we do here."

"I don't know," she says slowly. The fact she doesn't give me an outright 'no' gets my hopes up. "I don't know, for one, ze quality of ze classes at 'Ogwarts. What if you fall behind ze girls 'ere?"

"I'm sure Hogwarts is reasonably demanding of their students," I reassure her. "But if they're not, I can do independent studies instead, or something. And really, at the worst, if I don't learn as much there, I am still ahead of the others my age anyway. At worst I will fall into line with the proper curriculum anyway. Besides, if I stay and go to all my normal lessons, I am still missing a year of our extra sessions, and think how far behind I will be by next year? The gap between myself and my peers will be insurmountable. We wouldn't want to let me graduate the way I am now, surely."

I stop to catch my breath, so eager to present my case I did so without pause. Madame Maxime thinks over what I said as I gulp in air. My rather noisy huffing and puffing does credit to my claim to need my extra lessons, thankfully, and Madame finally speaks.

"Zat would be quite a shame," she says at last, "to graduate a student so lacking in manners. Beauxbatons would be scandalized. If ze classes at 'Ogwarts prove to be subpar, you promise you will study at your level on your own initiative?"

"Yes!" I promise with gusto, nodding my head vigorously. I pointedly ignore her comment about my behaviour scandalizing the school and feel myself grinning from ear to ear. "Just one thing," I say, almost as an afterthought.

Madame looks weary at my words. "What would zat be?"

"Gem comes too," I say.

The colt bobs his head as though he agrees, and after a short pause, Madame nods too.

"Alright. You might as well continue his training while you are gone. Just remember, you must work 'ard in ze time before we leave. Now, go on inside and go to sleep; classes start as early as last year in the morning."

"Thanks!" I exclaim, throwing my arms impulsively around her quickly before running for the gate. I don't bother to tell her that I haven't even unpacked yet and can't go straight to bed.

"You are welcome," she says, a little flustered. "Don't disappoint me, Mademoiselle Mavros!"

"I don't know 'ow you convinced Madame to let you come," Jessamine says the next morning, "but I am 'appy for it all the same."

The dormitories are assigned by year and since both my friends are a couple years ahead of me, I didn't have a chance last night to share my news. They were both shocked to see me join the small group after breakfast, twelve seventeen-year-olds…and me. The other contestants, Jean-Luc and Pierre the only boys, eye me warily, wondering what a lowerclassmen is doing in the group.

"Obviously, I'm not part of the competition," I explain, keeping my voice down as Madame appears in the doorway. "My appalling lack of refinement is for once a positive. None of the other teachers will have time this year to continue my extra lessons and Madame is scared to leave me to my own devices all year. So I'm coming."

I give an impish shrug and Fleur and Jessamine both let out a quiet giggle. Unfortunately, Madame Maxime chooses the wrong moment to approach the group. She gives me a stern look. "Do not make me regret zis, Arielle." The girls who had been shooting me daggers are pacified by the reprimand and the corners of their mouths turn up. I pointedly ignore them.

"Now, girls," Madame says, addressing the group, "I 'ave not 'ad a chance to speak to you all as a group. We may be bringing twelve contestants to 'Ogwarts, but only one will go on to become the Beauxbatons Champion. No matter who the Cup chooses, I want you all to remember, we are all representatives of our Beauxbatons and will conduct ourselves proudly, and as regally as you have been trained."

"Some of us, anyway," one girl mutters to another. The both look at me. Madame either ignores them or doesn't hear.

"Now, up you go to classes – you must work as 'ard as ever in ze meantime." Madame shoos us towards the door and we all scatter towards different classes, chattering excitedly in groups of twos and threes while we make our way to class.


	4. The Goblet of Fire

The Goblet of Fire

When we finally file out of the carriage at the end of October, my stiff legs welcome the chance to stretch and I walk on the spot, resisting the building urge to explore the strange new surroundings. We landed on the edge of a forest that looked to stretch on forever from the carriage window. The school itself, Hogwarts, that is, looms to the other side of the carriage, a majestic castle pulled straight out of a fairy tale. Wordlessly, we all take in the sights.

A giant man with a giant beard and giant ratty robes ambles out from the castle to meet our little group. "You must be the Beauxbatons group. Durmstrang is runnin' late. Did yeh have a good flight?"

"It was uneventful," Madame Maxime says, eying the man almost wearily. I feel myself doing the same; he is probably the largest man I've ever seen, bigger than any mountain bear back home, even.

"Could be a lot worse than that," he says agreeably. "Oh, excuse me, I'm Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor. These are some fine animals yeh've got here."

Madame nods in agreement. "Olympe Maxime, Beauxbatons Headmistress. You are ze one 'oo is taking care of my 'orses?"

"Yeah, o' course," Hagrid says. "I'm also supposed ter take you lot up to the castle. If yeh'd care ter follow me, it's not long until dinner now."

Madame clears her throat in a ladylike manner. "Come, come, girls, or we will be late to dinner."

So we follow in a sedate single-file line behind the two towering teachers, across a walkway and up onto a bridge. I dawdle at the end of the line and struggle to keep up to the group and still see all that passes around me. One spindly, sparse tree standing alone on the lawn catches my eye. The many branches seem to sway curiously though there's no wind.

I'm far behind the group now and run quickly and quietly back into line. Up ahead I hear Madame carefully instructing Hagrid in the care of the horses.

Once inside the castle, Hagrid turns to glance out onto the lawn. "Ah, there's Durmstrang now. When Dumbledore – our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore – settles the students – a wee bit excited, them – the doors will swing open and you can enter. I'll be off, then, to bring up the Durmstrang lot, then."

And he lumbers back down the wide corridor and into the darkening evening light.

"If only Professor Brunet could see the ragtag professors Hogwarts employs." This comes in a hushed tone from Terese, the same girl who took such pleasure in the reprimand I received this morning. The girl next to her, Celeste, smirks in agreement.

Their tone sparks something inside of me, and I lean towards them. "Hagrid was perfectly nice to you," I hiss, "you don't need to be such a cow."

"Just because you don't take any pride in appearances doesn't mean the rest of us don't," Terese snaps.

I open my mouth to form a retort but Madame interrupts before I can speak.

"'Onestly," she scolds me, "you 'ave not even been here one day and already I question my decision to bring you along. Do not make me question myself again. It is not impossible to change my mind and send you 'ome."

"Of course, Madame," I say, clenching a fist. I can see Terese and Celeste out of the corner of my eye and the smug looks on their faces sets me on edge. "Sorry."

It's in that moment, though, that the great double doors swing open to the hall and Madame gathers us into a line. "Alright," she says, "just follow protocol, girls. Remember, you are representing not only yourselves, but Beauxbatons as well."

And before I can brace myself or recall what all 'protocol' entails, Madame is sweeping into the hall, followed closely by Terese, Celeste and the rest of the candidates. I follow behind, glad I let the others go ahead. I can watch the others for cues and sweep into the room just as well as the others, hardly noticing the four long tables where the students sit watching us. I'm too preoccupied with figuring out what exactly I'm supposed to be doing. It's a relief when we come to a stop, standing at the front of the great room.

Only a short pause later, another group enters the hall, another dozen students, these all males march up to join us at the front, hitting the floor with some sort of big staffs in a rhythmic pattern. I for one don't see the point of such an entrance but I glance over at the other girls and a few of them are staring raptly at the newcomers.

So, too, I see, are most of the Hogwarts students. A couple of ginger-haired boys near the head of one of the tables – twins, maybe – are too busy conversing with each other to take notice. Another ginger boy beside them elbows one and they turn to face the front as the Durmstrang candidates come to a halt off to the side of our group.

Dumbledore at once begins his welcoming speech. "I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable," he is saying. I don't think I've ever heard any Beauxbatons professors utter either of those words. I like him already. Terese, however, gives a cynical laugh. I suddenly wish I was standing beside her, as my elbow is longing to bury itself in her ribs. I gaze out at the room instead, trying to banish the thought from my head.

It's only then that I notice the unusual décor. Hundreds of candles float above the tables and along the walls, bobbing gently up and down in the air. Above the candles, the ceiling is nonexistant, open instead to a starry sky lit by the last coloured rays of sunset. I wonder if there is an enchantment there to keep out the rain and snow or if the ceiling itself is enchanted to reflect the sky outside.

My examination of the ceiling eventually draws my attention to the banners hanging above each of the four tables. Each table is decorated in different colours – red and gold, green and silver, yellow and black, and blue and bronze. I pull my brows together in a frown as I wonder at the banners. How do the students know which table they belong to? Unless Hogwarts only has four years, their system operates differently than our own at Beauxbatons. I make a mental note to find out what the colours mean.

"I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Suddenly the whole hall is clapping, and Madame leans down to speak to Frances before taking a seat at the head table. Jessamine grabs my arm to jolt me from my thoughts and I quickly follow my schoolmates as Frances leads the way to the empty end of one of the tables, the one the blue and bronze banners hang over. The students' eyes follow us closely as we sweep past them again, followed closely by the Durmstrang lot, who settle in at the green and silver table. I sink with relief into my seat, glad to be sitting down where most of the curious gazes can't see me.

"And now, as I am sure you are all ready for it," Headmaster Dumbledore is saying, "dinner is served. Welcome to Hogwarts, one and all!"

And suddenly the table is filled with all kinds of foods. Most of the girls pick at the selection but Madame and I both heartily dig in.

"I wish I was as carefree about my figure as you are," Terese tells me from across the table. She hardly needs a plate, choosing instead to fill up mostly on pumpkin juice.

I smile at her in return. "The way you're guzzling that juice I thought you were. The juice isn't just naturally that sweet – can't you taste all the sugar?"

She chokes on her drink and I take a victorious bite of some sort of delicious potato dish. I almost wish I had been telling her the truth.

"Over at that table," Jessamine is whispering to Fleur. "The one with the dark 'air and ratty glasses."

"Really?" Frances, on the other side of Jessamine joins in, looking towards the same table all the gingers are sitting at.

"Yeah, I see him," I pipe up. "What's the big deal with him?"

"That's 'Arry Potter," Jessamine answers. "Don't tell me you haven't 'eard of him!"

"Course I've heard of him," I say. "I just don't memorize the faces of total strangers."

Fleur interrupts with a flick of her perfect blonde hair. "We are 'ere to compete in the Triwizard Tournament," she says scornfully. "Not to ogle young wizards with unfortunate 'air."

The rest giggle at that and turn the discussion to the hall ceiling. I, having already noticed it focus instead on my plate and take a bite of a treacle tart so good I could almost cry. No matter what happens outside the hall while I'm here, at least I know there will be a high point in any day to come.

The excitement of the night, however, isn't over. Two men join the crowd at the head of the room, who Dumbledore introduces as Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman, Heads of the Departments of International Magical Corporation and Magical Games and Sports, respectively. The pair, it is announced, will join the three Headmasters as judges during the Triwizard Tournament.

"The second one, Bagman, was a famous Beater ages ago," Jess murmurs to me. "My dad would probably have a heart attack if he were here."

I don't know a whole lot about Quidditch, but with a moment of reflection, I think I know which position is called a 'Beater.' Beauxbatons doesn't encourage participation in such a rough sport and so there are no school teams or Quidditch lessons for interested students. I busied myself with hockey, instead, though during the school year it's always been difficult to keep up with Muggle sports.

"The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector," Dumbledore is saying again. I realize I'm missing more than I'm hearing of what's going on. "The Goblet of Fire."

He taps his wand thrice on a wooden box I didn't even notice was brought in, and the lid slowly opens. Dumbledore retrieves some sort of wooden cup – the 'Goblet of Fire,' I assume, rather unimpressed. It looks like I'd imagine a caveman's drinking cup would look like.

I take back my harsh judgment, though, as I notice the growing flame spouting out, small at first but larger as Dumbledore holds it in the light. I vaguely hear him explaining that candidates are to enter their names to the cup, but the Goblet itself is far more enthralling.

The flame is captivating. It's not a boring, subdued blue like the Beauxbatons uniform, but rather a pale, frosty blue that sends shivers down my back, tempered only by the odd darker flicker of a more vibrant shade. It's only at my friends' nudging that I realize the rest of our group is standing, and both the feast and the long day is finally over.


	5. First Night

First Night

It is well past sunset when Madame leads us back out into the cool air. The Durmstrang boys were still seated, deep in discussion at their own table in the back of the hall but if Isabelle is to be believed, they will board on their ship during their stay. As for us, the carriage has been enchanted to serve as a dormitory for our group; Hagrid has been enlisted again to escort us from the castle.

We follow him and Madame across the lawn, passing by a small hut on the edge of the forest.

"What is _that_?" This of course, was muttered by Terese.

Unfortunately for her, she spoke louder than she meant to and Hagrid overhears her.

"That's me house." Hagrid says gruffly, as though Terese's opinion matters. "It's on the edge of the grounds so I can keep an eye on the Forbidden Forest."

"I think it's charming," I say loudly. I'm not sure I really believe myself, even, but I have to say something to make up for Terese's callous comment.

"Thanks," Hagrid says, quietly appeased. Terese rolls her eyes at me. With Madame's back turned, I am free to stick my tongue out in response. "Now, yer carriage is set up inside the Forest, but as long as ye don't go any further in than that, ye should be safe enough. If ye hear noises during the night, just ignore them. It'll be safer to stay in the carriage."

"Noises?" Terese speaks up again, noticeably unnerved. Not that I can blame her this time.

"Yeah," he says, but doesn't elaborate. "So make sure you're safely back at the carriage before night falls – no telling what kinds o' creatures creep close in the dark."

We enter the forest, our group more than a little on edge after Hagrid's warning. Several girls retrieve their wands. "Lumos." Half a dozen lights appear in the darkness. I don't bother; the others cast enough light for me to see by and I don't plan on falling behind in here.

After a few moments, I begin to relax a bit. In a way, the dark forest, thick with trees, reminds me of the forests back home and I pretend that's where I am. At least I know what kinds of dangers to watch for at home.

"Well, here ye are," Hagrid announces. Up ahead, I see the carriage, glowing blue in the moonlight. The horses are penned up nearby.

Gem nickers as we approach, and a big black dog sitting near the carriage door lopes forward intimidatingly. Several of the girls shrink back but I step forward and kneel down. The dog trots right up to me, friendly as can be and I give him a pat.

"That's Fang," Hagrid says proudly. "I'd leave him to guard but he'd be gone before morning anyway. Bit of a coward, him. I'll be back in the morning to guide you all back to the castle."

"That is quite alright," Madame interjects. "We can take care of ourselves. Thank you, 'Agrid, for the tour; I am sure, though, that we will be more than able to make our own way up to the castle tomorrow. Now, girls, up into bed; it is late and there will be no sleeping in tomorrow."

With one last pat for Fang, I follow Jess and Fleur into the carriage, not surprised to see the travelling compartment has been transformed into a large sleeping area. We all take bunks near each other and across the room from Terese and Celeste.

"Good luck tomorrow," Fleur whispers to Jess once we're all tucked into our beds.

"You too," Jess replies, sounding like she's already half-asleep.

"Yeah," I say quietly, as Madame settles her large frame down in her bed. "Good luck to both of you."


	6. Age Line

Age Line

I awake far too early by a rough hand on my shoulder.

"Jess and I are going down to put in our names." It's Fleur, speaking in her usual brisk tone. I'm still half asleep and struggle to understand. "If you want to come, you 'ad better get dressed."

I groan, wanting nothing more than to roll back over. "Why do you have to go so early? You have all day to day to put in your names."

"Fleur thinks if we show initiative and put our names in quickly, we 'ave a better chance of being chosen," Jess pipes up, sidling up to my bed.

"Remind me again why I am friends with such overachievers," I mutter. Yet I force myself up out of bed and into an unsteady upright position.

Fleur makes an impatient sound in my direction. "As if you, a year younger than your classmates, are not an overachiever. You just manage to do it with less effort. Now, get dressed, or I will leave you 'ere."

"Not less effort," I say, digging through my trunk for something comfortable. "Just with a later start to my days."

"You are not wearing _that_," Fleur says, ignoring my comment.

Jess, too, turns up her nose at my selection. I study it again and see nothing wrong with my choices. There are no classes today, so I picked casual clothes, high quality jeans and an expensive sweater in faded white. Maybe it's a light grey shade, I can't really tell, actually, and I can't remember what it looked like new. The sweater, I can admit, probably wouldn't fetch much of a price now. Still, it's the most comfortable one I own and by far my favourite.

"'Ow are you going to impress the Durmstrang crowd in that outfit?"

"Don't know why you're so worried about impressing the guys," I throw back at Jess, rebelliously slipping my legs into the jeans. "You've got a boyfriend back in Paris, anyway."

"That does not mean we cannot make other boys notice us," Fleur explains with a roll of her eyes.

"I would be 'appy to forget all about Alain if that Quidditch player looked my way," Jess states dreamily. I just roll my eyes.

"You would not," I say knowingly. Jess and Alain have been together forever, and I have a feeling it would take more than just some famous athlete to break them up.

"Are you ready yet?" Fleur interrupts impatiently.

"No, I still have to do something with my hair," I say, looking at the mirror in frustration. The long strands, usually caught between a curl and a wave, are currently also caught in horrendous tangles, a wild mess flowing out the back of my head.

Before I can pick up a brush, Fleur waves her wand in a complicated array of movements and mutters some spell I don't even recognize. The tangles all unwind at the same time, causing me to bite my lip with the sting. When I look in the mirror again, my hair has pulled itself up into some kind of twisty knot, not a stray strand to be seen. All the manual willpower I've ever thrown at my looks never made my hopeless mess of hair look so good.

Fleur looks so proud of herself, I have to say something or she'll be full of herself for the next week. "All that, and you couldn't make it painless?"

Her mouth curves back into its usual relaxed frown. "Are you coming, or not?"

She turns swiftly and gracefully hops down from the carriage. Jess and I share a grin and quickly follow Fleur back up the winding forest path to the school.

"There," Fleur says about forty-five minutes later. She walked up to the hall and straight to the Goblet, her poise and confidence intimidating a couple of Hogwarts girls standing near the Age Line and catching the appreciative eyes of all the males, of Hogwarts and Durmstrang both.

"Wish me luck," Jess says under her breath. She steps daintily over the line and sweeps her skirt jauntily from side to side on her way to the Goblet. As my gaze follows her I find myself fixating on the Goblet of Fire itself.

I don't even realize Jess made it back across the line until a commotion almost completely opposite us stirs. Two tall, ginger-haired boys are sauntering towards the Goblet. Just their arrival has the Hogwarts students muttering to each other, watching the two make their way over. I belatedly recognize them as the chatty two from dinner last night.

"It's not going to work. You see this?" A Hogwarts girl with light brown hair about as restrained as mine usually is, points at the golden Age Line glowing faintly on the floor. "This is an Age Line. Dumbledore drew it himself. A genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by a dodge as pathetically dim-witted as an aging potion." She says her piece with an almost arrogant certainty, as though she's never been wrong in her life. Amusingly, she sort of reminds me of Fleur in that moment.

"Ah, but that's why it's so brilliant!" One of the ginger twins is saying.

"Because it's so pathetically dimwitted," his brother finishes.

Dumbledore, sitting quietly in his chair at the front of the room does nothing to intervene. I perk up. Maybe if the aging potion works for them, I can convince them to tell me how to make one for myself. That would certainly make the year more interesting.

One steps over the line cautiously, and when nothing happens, he heads for the Goblet, his brother not far behind. They drop their names into the cup and turn to rejoin their friends. Their classmates nearby all begin to cheer, but almost immediately, both are thrown violently back past the Age Line.

Instantly, the two begin to sprout long, white beards thick enough to compete with their Headmaster's. Several of the other students look at the pair in horror, but the boys just point at each other and begin to laugh.

I find myself joining in, too, amused at the antics. Hogwarts, I'm finding is much less reserved than my own school, a realization that makes me believe that the year might not be as bad as I'd feared, even if an aging potion won't get my name into the Goblet of Fire.

Beside me, Fleur shoves an elbow into my ribs. She, of course, shows no hint of a smile at the goings-on. "Idiots," she says disdainfully.

"What are you standing around for?" I don't have to look back to know it's Terese and her minions, showing up to put in their names. I find myself wishing that if my friends aren't chosen, the champion is anyone other than Terese or Celeste, who is following her leader as usual. "A little intimidated, are we?"

"You might be," Fleur answers in a bored tone. "I already put mine in. Jessamine, Arielle, don't you think it's about time we returned to our studies?"

Normally, I'd disagree on this point, but with Terese standing over us, I gave the scene across the room one last wistful glance and turned to follow my friends back to the carriage for a long, boring day of schoolwork.


	7. Champions

Champions

We are all tense – even me, who doesn't even have a horse in the race – when we head once again up to the castle for dinner. While Terese complains about the long walk, I find it too short after being cooped up studying all afternoon. As Fleur reminded me at least a dozen times, though, Madame will be watching me like a hawk to make sure I can keep up with my work like I've promised, so I buckle down and spend the day in books, and not the fun ones, either.

So it's with a heavy heart that I enter the castle for the second time today. Though the Durmstrang lot are following not far behind us, most of the Hogwarts students are already present in the hall, chatting noisily, the odd one gesturing at the Goblet, which now sits at the front of the room, commanding attention.

I crane my neck to see the red and gold table, scanning the assembly until I spot the twins, who are now beardless. Jess pokes me and gestures in the opposite direction, pointing out one of the Durmstrang students, who even I can admit is worth a glance or two.

Even though I can feel my stomach growling, I'm disappointed when the meal is served before the names are revealed. That disappointment, however, doesn't stop me from enjoying supper. Not a single Beauxbatons student besides myself has the same enthusiasm. I figure it's just nerves; they are all hoping to hear their name called, while knowing that only one of the twelve can be selected. I'm actually kind of glad at this moment to be excluded from the whole ordeal.

Eventually, the wait is over and the tables magically clear themselves. We all turn to watch the Goblet, some people chattering, most silently staring. After a few moments, the blue flames turn deep red and shoot sparks high into the sky.

A singed paper shoots out and floats into Dumbledore's palm. "The Durmstrang champion," he announces loudly, "is Victor Krum!"

The room breaks out into applause – none louder than Durmstrang's Headmaster, Karkaroff, though most of my group doesn't join in. I do, as Krum saunters up to the front and is waved through a door and out of sight.

It isn't long before the flames burn red again.

"The Beauxbatons champion," Dumbledore announces again, "is Fleur Delacour!"

I quickly peek at Jess, whose face falls momentarily, but quickly she pastes on a smile for Fleur and only then do I burst into enthusiastic applause, which Jess joins in on. No one else from our group cheers for Fleur. Frances and Isabelle both start to cry. I have to repress an eye roll and remind myself that I don't know how they feel, since I never had a shot.

Fleur sweeps up to the front and through the door gracefully.

Dumbledore is already holding the next paper. "The Hogwarts champion is…Cedric Diggory!" The Hogwarts students go wild as a good-looking guy rises from the black and yellow table heads for the front, a wide grin on his face. I go ahead and clap for him, too, not caring if I'm the only one of us who does.

Dumbledore smiles and begins a concluding speech, but is interrupted midsentence by the Goblet, which has once more flared up red. Silence falls on the crowd as an extra paper flutters free of the flames. Dumbledore grasps for it and stares at the writing for a long moment. Finally, he looks out across the room until he finds a certain face.

"Harry Potter."


	8. Testing

Testing

We are all silent until the moment the carriage door closes behind the last of us. Madame and Fleur are still up in the castle, but everyone else suddenly bursts into conversation. For once I'm not the only one raising my voice. Actually, I'm not even raising my voice at the moment – watching the others pace and simmer is entertaining enough to keep me quiet.

"I always knew we were at a disadvantage," Celeste is saying angrily. "We should not 'ave expected the 'ost school to play fair. Now look what they 'ave done!"

"Rotten little cheaters," Frances starts up, but Terese, silent at first, can't hold it together anymore.

She lets out an enraged scream and I wince. "That should be _me_ in there! Not that tiny freak! I 'ave worked too _hard_ for this to be tossed aside for 'im!"

The room dissolves into heated conversations, everyone talking for themselves, louder and louder to be heard over the others. Nobody is listening anyway, and the noise isn't amusing anymore, just annoying. I'm tempted to slip out into the forest, half-convinced that I'd rather face the mysteries of the Forbidden Forest by night than sit here for much longer, but I am saved as the door swings open and everyone pauses for breath as the carriage door opens to admit Madame and Fleur.

"Everybody to bed!" Madame orders brusquely.

"But, Madame," Pierre pipes up.

"To bed!"

Madame's tone leaves no argument and we all head for our beds. In the midst of what happened, nobody thinks to congratulate Fleur on beign chosen. That, or they are upset that she was picked in the first place. Either way, I settle into bed before whispering my own congratulations. Jess overhears and adds her. Fleur doesn't acknowledge us verbally, but I can see in the dark as a quick smile lights her face up for a brief moment before she closes her eyes.

I hear their breathing deepen long before my own eyes begin to droop. We are supposed to begin classes in the morning, and I find myself more excited than usual about the prospect. Eventually, though, I drift off, dreaming that my name was the fourth to flutter out of the Goblet.

And everyone cheers.

Even though the next morning is Sunday, Madame rouses us all at some ungodly hour to march up to the castle. We sit at our usual spot for a quick breakfast, then Madame hands out sheets of parchment to all the others.

"Your classes," she announces. "Fleur, of course, you are not expected to sit for final exams, 'owever, I expect all of you to strive to excel as you would at Beauxbatons. Arielle, there 'as been some debate as to which classes you will take."

Only half awake, I supress a groan. It's way too early in the morning for this talk. Madame, always an early riser, continues in a chipper voice.

"They signed you up for ze usual year four classes, until I notified them that you are well above your age level. 'Owever, some of ze professors 'ere want to test your skills before allowing you into ze 'igher level classes. When you are done 'ere, I will escort you to a room where you may meet with ze staff. Ze rest of you may work on your studies."

So much for making this quick and slipping back into bed. I ignore the last dregs of pumpkin juice and allow Madame to lead me deeper into the castle.

Having only been into the hall, my interest is piqued by the new surroundings. Soon the corridor opens up to a stairwell reaching dozens of storeys both higher and lower than this main level. As I stare up at the maze above me, one staircase lets out a loud grinding sound of stone on stone, and proceeds to shift sideways to connect to a new staircase.

"So unnecessary," Madame mutters as she starts up a set of stairs.

I follow with my mouth still hanging open, much more in awe of the sight than my Headmistress. Unfortunately, though I'd like to explore every set of stairs above me, we stop after one flight and head down another hall. Despite the early hour, small groups of students meander along, stopping here and there to wait as the staircases move seemingly at random. I reluctantly duck inside a rather spacious room, where several professors sit in chairs on the far side of the room.

"Good luck," Madame says kindly, and then she ducks back out – literally – and I'm left alone.

"Arielle Mavros, is it?" This comes from the first woman, a stern-looking grey-haired woman.

"Just Ari," I correct. "Who are you?"

"Professor McGonagall," she replies. "I teach transfiguration. Madame Maxime has informed me that you completed the level four course last year at Beauxbatons?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say. She eyes me for a moment, and I stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

"Well, then," she says at last. "Take out your wand. I'd like to see you transform this chair into an owl."

I pull out my wand from within my robes. About eleven inches long, it's constructed from maple, and though it's made carefully, with great precision and dedication, it does look a little like someone just snapped a branch off of a tree and gave it to me. I've never seen another so natural looking and I love it, especially the smaller brand that sprouts off about two-thirds of the way up. Two small bronze-coloured leaves streaked with gold-and-red highlights hang delicately from the branch. Or so they look. They've never snapped off, even though I tend to shove them rather roughly back into my robes at times.

The professors all fix their stares on my unusual wand as I ignore the attention and perform the required task efficiently. Professor McGonagall asks me to do a couple more tasks, both of which I am able to complete to her satisfaction, and I am admitted into the year five Transfiguration class.

The next professor, a rough-looking man with one normal eye and one very active bright blue one introduces himself as Professor Moody, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Of course, like Harry Potter, 'Mad-Eye' Moody is somewhat famous and so I already know a bit about the ex-auror.

"Let me see your wand," he says first. I step forward and hand it over. As it changes hands, the leaves curl in on themselves and turn black.

"Interesting," he says, looking it over from every angle. "Where did you get this?"

"Back home," I say, clearing my throat. "In Canada. Wands aren't made beforehand to choose a wielder later, the wand is instead made specifically for the wizard."

"Fascinating," he says, fixing even the crazy eye on my wand. "Does it have a core?"

I nod yes.

"Well? What is it?"

I don't know why he's so interested in the inside, but I humour him. "Dragon heartstring-"

"Hmm," he says, cutting me off.

His blue eye _and_ the normal one both shoot back towards me, though, when I continue. "And the hair of a Thestral."

"Very rare," he says after a pause, studying the wand with a new interest, "very rare, indeed. Few wands are ever bound with Thestral hair. The beasts are invisible to most. But the real curiosity is the double core. Almost unheard of. Very strange."

"Now, Moody," McGonagall interrupts. "I'm sure she doesn't want to spend her whole Sunday standing around inside."

"Right you are," he says, reluctantly handing my wand back. I grasp it tightly, insecure in the room full of eyes, all on me.

"We'll start with a few questions, I think," he says with a sigh, and so I spend my morning alternatively answering the questions the professors bombard me with and demonstrating my grasp of different spells.

My stomach is growling again by the time they quiet down.

"Well," McGonagall says after they take a moment to discuss my results. "You are proficient at a year five level for the most part."

I find myself holding my breath as she continues.

"However, your knowledge of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class is barely on par with your fellow year fours. Professor Moody has requested you remain at your age-level. Professor Snape, as well, will keep you at your own level."

I feel my shoulders droop. What I have always lacked in restraint and proper etiquette, I've always made up for in natural magical talent. To be told that I am lacking in not one but _two_ areas of learning is a blow to my confidence. If I'm not above average in my classes, where do my talents lie?

"You don't need to look so upset," she continues, noting the fall of my expression. "Professor Hagrid has informed me you are quite far ahead of other students your age in Care of Magical Creatures. If you'd like, he'd be willing to place you as far ahead as the year six class. And being on the same level as others your age is certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

I nod in agreement to appease her, though my heart's not in it. She probably went to school here, not in a restricting environment of such high expectations as Beauxbatons. I have always balanced out my weaknesses by working harder than anyone else in my class, and still there are areas where I am failing myself.

Yet even so, a little voice in the back of my head reminds me of my year six levels in one class and I cheer up slightly. "Thank you," I say simply to the assembly.

"Don't thank us," McGonagall replies, "you are an exemplary student, and that can only come from your own hard work. We will have your class schedule ready for you by dinner, I should think. For now, you go ahead and spend your afternoon how you wish."

"Thank you," I say again. I don't wait around to see if they have any more questions for me. My growling stomach urges me from the room and straight back to the hall in search of lunch.


	9. Weasleys

Weasleys

None of my Beauxbatons group is in the hall when I arrive, so I take a seat alone at the usual spot, watching as the odd group enters or leaves, chatting quietly with each other. More than once as I catch bits of the conversations do I hear the name 'Harry Potter' spoken. Some seem impressed; others disgusted.

I am too relieved to be done with the tests that I don't care either way and am about to take a heart bite of my sandwich when I hear a loud voice calling from across the room.

"Hey! You!"

I turn to look in the direction the call came from and find the ginger-haired twins watching me.

"Yes, you," one says. I can almost feel my face turning pink at the attention. "Why don't you sit over here? There aren't even any Ravenclaws over there."

I wonder quickly what a 'Ravenclaw' might be.

"Even if there was," the other interjects, "they'd be way less fun than us."

At the word fun, my interest grows and I shrug my shoulders. "Sure," say, before grabbing my lunch and crossing the room to the red and gold table.

One boy hands over a folded bit of parchment to the other.

"An IOU," one explains as he pockets the scrap. "George here didn't figure you'd come over. Of course, you don't seem like the rest of your lot."

"That's for sure," I say with a quick laugh. "I'm Ari, by the way. Ari Mavros."

"I'm Fred Weasley," the same one – Fred – speaks again. "And this is my brother George. Some people mix us up, though I don't see how they don't recognize my superior looks."

George snorts at him and I rely drily, "no, I can't imagine that, either."

"Nobody seems to have seen you enter your name yesterday," Fred says, suddenly curious.

"Well," I say loftily, pausing for a bite. "Yesterday wasn't really a beard day for me."

"So what are you doing here if you weren't brought along to compete?" This from George, asked at the exact moment I take another bite.

"I've been failing my etiquette classes practically since I've started school," I say, proving just why that is as I talk through my full mouth. "Madame Maxime couldn't risk leaving me behind to evolve into some sort of ill-mannered ape this year, so here I am."

"Yeah, cause being here is making so much difference," Fred smirks. He doesn't say it meanly, more like he's amused by me, and I guess when compared to the rest of the much more reserved Beauxbatons girls, I am definitely the odd one out.

I choose to roll my eyes at that. "Just don't tell Madame, or she'll banish me to my usual spot and watch me like a hawk."

"Noted," he says with a grin, pausing for a bite of his own lunch.

"So what year are you in, then, six?" George asks while Fred chews through a giant bite.

"Five," I say, not mentioning that I'm supposed to be only in four.

"We're in six," he replies. "Would be nice to have some new blood. Same old group gets old every year."

"Well, I was put into year six's Care of Magical Creatures class," I offer. "You don't sound like them," Fred says. "Or like us, for that matter."

"Well, obviously," George returns. "In case you hadn't noticed, she's a girl.

Fred hits him at that. "American?" he asks as they settle.

I shake my head. "Canadian. My parents were both English, though." Before they can ask anything else I look up at the great banners above the table. "What do those mean?"

"Oh," says George, "they're the House colours. There's four houses, sorted by personalities; Gryffindor – that's us, we're brave, and the best, obviously – are red and gold; Hufflepuff are hard workers, and not a bad lot, either – they're the yellow and black table; then there's Ravenclaw, who are smart – they're always reading or researching some thing or other, they're blue and bronze. Then there's Slytherin."

George stops short, his eyes narrowing slightly as they fall upon the green and silver banners.

"What's wrong with Slytherin?" The green and silver Slytherin table was where Durmstrang sat last night.

"A bad lot, they are," Fred says in a hard tone. "Most of the Death Eaters who graduated from the school were in Slytherin. You-Know-Who, too. Power hungry group, them."

George nods in agreement but I sort of wonder if they aren't just Gryffindor's rivals, and that's why Fred and George are so soured against them. I'll wait and see what they're like for myself before I decide on my views.

"So," I say, studying the banners still, "your Cedric Diggory is a Hufflepuff, and Harry Potter belongs to Gryffindor? Bet there was quite the celebration last night. Wonder how he pulled it off."

"Harry says he didn't do it," George says with a shrug. "If we couldn't trick or way past that line, I doubt he could have, either."

"Because if anyone could, it would've been us." Coming from Fred, that statement almost doesn't sound conceited.

It's then that a young boy, maybe twelve, approaches the table alone. "Do you have anything? I heard what happened this summer..."

While the boy has no problem talking to the Weasleys, he trails off timidly when he finally notices me. Fred and George don't seem to notice. Rather, their eyes seem to light up.

"Course we do," Fred says. George pulls a small bag out of his pocket. "We never keep everything all in one place. Can you pay?"

The boy glances at me and wordlessly pulls out some change. George takes the coins and carefully counts them before opening the little bag and pulling out what looks like a brightly wrapped candy.

"Thanks," the boy manages to squeak. He quickly scurries away. The twins share a chuckle.

"What was that?" I ask, gesturing at the pocket George has already tucked the bag back into.

"What was what?" he says, grinning.

Fred finishes off his meal and glances at the door. A couple of Hogwarts students are standing just inside the room, gesturing for the Weasleys to join them.

"Say," Fred says, "some of us are going outside to play a game of Quidditch later. You game?"

"Yeah, su–" I start to agree, but some of my schoolmates sweep in just at that moment. Jess stops dead as she spots me sitting at a new spot. "You know," I amend, "maybe some other time. I think Jess's jaw is about to come unhinged."

Fred snorts at that, and I stand up to go. Before I turn to leave, however, I take a moment to study the two.

"What're you doing, exactly?" Fred asks.

George laughs. "Well, I mean, she hasn't a clue when she'll see us next, Fred. She's trying to memorize us, so it doesn't seem so long."

"Yeah," I agree, before fully realizing what I've said. "I mean, I _am_ studying you, but only so I can tell you apart next time."

"We won't hold it against you," Fred says, as though he's already convinced I can't figure out how to tell them apart.

"Happens all the time," George agrees.

"I bet you that bag," I say, inspired. Chances are good that I will be able to win such a bet, with a good helping of attention to details. "That I can tell you apart, that is."

"What if you lose?" George asks slowly, almost wary of the bet.

"You can choose whatever you want," I say, sure it won't come to that. "I won't be losing anyway."

They laugh at my cockiness and I shake their hands jokingly before I return to the Ravenclaw table, where the girls are all staring slack jawed at me.

"What on earth are you doing over there?" Frances asks, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Just talking," I shrug. "They're nice, and none of you were here so I figured, why not?"

"How could you?" Frances asks, as though she's personally offended. "They're all a bunch of uncivilized _cheaters_ – we are above their type."

I open my mouth to spew a retort at her, but Jess intervenes.

"Aren't those the two 'oo tried to sneak past the Age Line?"

"Yeah," I say. "Honestly the bearded look was pretty wicked, if I were them I would've left it for a few days."

"Look, Ari," Jess says, watching me intently. "You're in enough trouble over your manners as it is. I don't think they're the kinds of people you should be making friends with. You're just asking for trouble."

"Well," I say diplomatically, "maybe it's about time for a little fun. When in Rome, right?"

The girls all look at me like I've suddenly sprouted another head, and I slouch in my seat dejectedly.

"You'll get yourself sent back if you don't watch out," Jess says finally. "Madame's got 'er eye on you, don't forget."

"How could I ever," I mutter, frustrated. "I'm going to go sit with Gem for awhile."

I don't wait for a reply before leaping to my feet and making my way back out into the sunshine. I can hear hollering and laughter in the distance and consider going in search of the Quidditch game, but choose instead to continue back towards the forest. Maybe a relaxing visit with the yearling is just what I need.


	10. Quidditch

Quidditch

At supper I sit in my usual spot between Jess and Fleur, a little more relaxed after a quiet afternoon in the horse corral. I can't help but turn my gaze to the Gryffindor table, where one of the twins (I am too far away to try figure out which one) catches my eye and gives a little wink.

I grin back, but Jess catches sight of me and jabs her elbow deep into my side. I scowl at her before rejoining the quiet, polite conversation among my group. Just before the food is served, Professor McGonagall stops by with a sheet of parchment for me, before continuing on her way to the head table.

I unroll the page to scan the classes. Fourth year Potions tomorrow and Friday. Fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts Thursdays, double classes, various fifth year classes throughout the week. And sixth year Care of Magical Creatures classes Tuesdays and Thursdays.

"Let's see," Jess says. I hand her my parchment to look over.

"You're in sixth year Care of Magical Creatures?" She says, eyebrows raised. "Wow, Ari, that's great!"

"Well," I say, "it doesn't totally make up for the two classes I'm behind in."

Jess scans the list again before replying. "I don't see any here."

"The fourth year ones," I explain, pointing at the sheet. "I took fourth year last year."

"Their curriculum here is just different, that's all," Jess reassures me. She leans across to Fleur. "Do you have any clue what the first task is?"

"No," she says unhappily, and launches into a complaint about being kept in the dark. I take the opportunity to scan the room. I'm just trying to figure everyone out, I tell myself. Yet it isn't long before my gaze drifts down to the Gryffindor table.

One of my new friends is gesturing towards the doors and I give a quick little nod and hold up five fingers, meaning it'll take me a minute to get away from my group.

I scarf down the rest of my plate without glancing up at anyone and mumble my excuses before slipping away. I tense as I make my way to the doors in what I hope is an unassuming manner; even here, Madame has told us that the same etiquette rules apply and we aren't to leave the hall before she does.

I sneak a look at her just before I reach the door, and she hasn't noticed me. Neither have any of my group, as they're all too busy throwing ideas at Fleur as to what the task could be.

So I whip around the corner and out of sight, only to find a large hand clamped to my mouth. George, not the owner of the hand, presses a finger to his lips, gesturing down the hall, where the school caretaker, Filch or something like that, is just passing around a corner.

"Where are we going?" I whisper, in a moment when Fred lifts his hand.

"You're coming to play, of course," he says, taking off towards the door.

"But the others–"

"Now, now," George interrupts. "You're already free of them, no sense worrying now. Just say you were in the library or something."

"Have you ever played?" Fred asks as we step out into the sunlight. To the west, the sky is just beginning to change colour.

"No," I admit. "It's not really very appropriate game at Beauxbatons. And I only have Muggle TV in the summers."

"It's not hard," Fred assures me.

"We'll teach you all you need to know," George chimes in.

Somehow that doesn't make me feel much at ease.

"Okay," says George a few moments later. "How much do you know?"

"Oh, I know how it's played," I say, "I've just never actually done it."

"Can you ride?" Fred asks next, unbelting the quaffle.

"They _do_ teach us basic flight," I say, suddenly very aware as a couple of girls approach that I'm probably going to be the least experienced on the field.

"Hello," one of the girls says, a question in her tone. Fred looks up and grins.

"Oh, hey Angelina. George and I have been busy recruiting today. Ari, these two fabulous creatures are two of the Gryffindor team's Chasers, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell."

"Hi," I say, trying to be friendly. "Ari Mavros."

"Alright, who are the two captains tonight?" This comes from a tall, brown-skinned guy with dreadlocks. He looks friendly enough as he saunters up. "How about Harry and Ron, then? Well, hurry up, it's going to get dark fast."

"That's Lee Jordan," Fred says, pointing at the newcomer. "Great guy."

I turn to face the crowd, watching as another ginger-haired guy steps forward, along with no other Harry than Harry Potter. The two don't look at each other as Lee gestures for Ron to pick first.

"Lee."

"Fred," Harry says.

"Aw, come on!" George calls good-naturedly. A few laugh at that.

"Beauxbatons girl," Ron says unexpectedly.

"Ari," I inform Ron as I take a spot between him and Lee.

"Ron Weasley," he says.

I open my mouth to ask a question but Harry interrupts, calling out George's name. Lee grins, catching on to what I'm wondering. "Yep," he confirms. "Younger brother."

"Katie," Ron chooses next.

"Angelina," Harry picks. A few more are called and soon we have two separate teams.

"Lee, you can play Beater," Ron says. Harry, a few feet away, is assigning Fred and George to the Beater position as well.

"Well then," Lee argues, "who is playing Seeker?"

"Ari can," Ron says. "Have you ever played Seeker?"

I snort at that. "I haven't ever played Quidditch."

Ron grimaces at that. "Do you know the rules? Can you ride a broom?"

"Yes and yes," I reassure him. "I'll figure it out as I go."

Ron nods kindly. "It's just for fun, anyway."

Brooms are handed out to everyone assembled, and soon we are all kicking off, me a little shakier than the others. Katie wins the quaffle off of the draw and the Chasers begin the chase, ducking here and there as black bludgers zip dangerously through the air.

Harry, the other team's seeker, catches my eye from about ten feet away and gives a friendly grin. I smile back until I catch sight of a golden blur whiz behind Harry. Before I can react, I've lost track of it and decide to move further away from the others so I can focus on my task.

A bludger careens by my head, flipping my hair in the resulting wind. "Sorry," George calls, rushing by to keep the bludger in check. He swings hard and sends it flying off towards the play ahead, where our team manages to put the quaffle through the hoops.

Play continues for a while, Harry's team pulling ahead, 60-40, before I catch sight of the snitch again. It's flitting around one of the goalposts, and I take off towards it at the exact moment Harry flies by on his broom. Not to be outdone, I lean forward, urging my own to match his pace. Luckily for me, the snitch flits to another hoop just as Harry zips by it. He circles back around and we race from either side.

He's not slowing down, I realize, but I feel an immense need to beat him, to win the game. I lay low on my broom and swing through the hoop, letting go of the broom as it collides with Harry's. It's then that I find myself hanging by one hand from the rim of the hoop, my other hand curled around a small golden ball, its wings still.

I briefly hear someone – Ron, I think – cheer as he realizes what's happened. The voice is much closer than before, and suddenly a quaffle is thrown too late through the hoop I'm hanging from. Luckily, it passes without hitting me. I can't say the same for the speeding bludger that clips my face as it follows suit. The force surprises me, and I let go of the hoop, realizing in a second that this is a bad idea.

The ground is coming up at amazing speeds, until just before I'm about to hit it, when a speeding force knocks into me from the side and I find myself swooping back upwards. My saviour is grinning at me as he lands the broom safely on the ground.

"Fred," I say, laughing despite my hammering heart, "that was great!"

"That was _wicked_," he laughs. My team is all cheering, and I hold up my hand as I holler in triumph – to find it surprisingly light.

Harry lands off to the side, grinning almost apologetically as he holds up the snitch. I uncurl my fingers from their death grip to find them empty, save for one of the snitch's wings. Sheepishly, I drop the piece on the ground, as the others all laugh at the turn of events.

"That was great for a first time," he says consolingly.

"Yeah," George pipes up, "but the real prize is that shiny souvenir you'll be taking home with you."

I furrow a brow at him and he gestures to his face. I mirror the movement and find that the left side of my face is swelling where I was hit. Madame was going to throw a wreck.


	11. Class

Class

"Where on earth 'ave you been?"

I freeze, just about to slip into my bed. So much for sneaking in after dark unnoticed. At least Madame Maxime is still snoring soundly just down the short hall. The carriage has been enchanted to contain three bedrooms – one for the Headmistress, a small one for Jean-Luc and Pierre, and a much larger one for the eleven of us female students.

"The library," I tell Jess, knowing she won't believe me. "Classes start tomorrow already. I have five OWLs this year, you know. _And_ my extra lessons with Madame."

One relief is that Hagrid accepted my verbal quizzing yesterday as the written portion of my Care of Magical Creatures OWL. Since I was bumped up to year six in his class, I had to complete my OWL examination within the week, since all the others took it last year in year five.

"Exactly," she whispers. "You don't 'ave time to be playing around with 'Ogwarts riff-raff."

"It's not my fault if they need to use the library at the same time as I do," I say stubbornly, turning to face away from her.

She lets out a breath between her teeth, making a disapproving hiss but doesn't say anything else.

Nor does she the next morning, when we dress in our uniforms and line up outside of the carriage.

"Mademoiselle Mavros," Madame says pointedly. It's rarely a good sign when she pulls out the 'Mademoiselle.' "What 'as 'appened to your face?"

I reach up automatically to touch the area in question. It's even more swollen than the night before, and painful to the touch. "I, uh, fell," I say lamely. "It was getting dark last night and I tripped on something in the Forest."

Luckily, as I lack the grace of the other girls, Madame seems to buy this, despite my feeling that Jess is shooting daggers at me with her big doe eyes.

She sighs and gives her wand a little wave, and I feel the swelling disappear immediately. "I will only warn you once," she says, "you are to be back at ze carriage before sunset."

"Yes, Madame Maxime," I say, trying to look apologetic.

With an imperious sigh, she starts off down the path to the school. My nerves flare at the thought of going to class. Being younger than all the others, I won't even have the benefit of knowing anyone there. Fred and George, in year six, won't be in any of my classes today.

My anxiety builds once we step inside the castle. Leaving behind the sunlight and open lawns makes me feel oddly claustrophobic. I've never felt bothered by tight spaces before now.

Madame leads us into the hall for a quick breakfast, but while most of the others begin eating, I can't bring myself to do anything more than pick at my food, until it's time to head to class.

My very first one, year four Potions, is in the dungeons, so I at least know I need to head down. Luckily, I fall into step with a group of half a dozen Hogwarts students walking in the same direction.

"Potions?" I ask of one boy, his hair almost an unnatural white-blonde colour. The shade is striking, in a way, and the boy himself isn't bad-looking. I give a friendly smile.

He sweeps his gaze down my powder-blue ensemble before curving his own lips upward. "The perfect way to start a week, if one has to be in classes," he says easily. "Our Potions curriculum is by far the best course offered at Hogwarts."

I, who never cared much for the patience and attention to detail required of the class, nod agreement only to seem friendly.

"Draco Malfoy," he says, extending a pale hand.

"Ari Mavros," I say in return. I shake the offered hand. His grip is stronger than I'd have guessed.

"Here we are," he says suddenly. One of the huge students in the group holds the great door open for us to pass though.

"Thanks," I tell him. He just sort of stares at me, as though he doesn't know how to respond.

"There's room at my table," Draco is saying. I quickly follow into the dimly lit room. He gestures to a seat with a fair view of the front of the room, and I obediently sit.

"But that's my–" the giant student starts, quickly silencing himself mid-sentence as Draco shoots him a cold look. I actually have to fight back a shiver.

"I'll sit over here, then," he mutters, taking a seat at the back of the next table. I feel bad and wonder if I should take a seat somewhere else – half the room is totally empty of students.

I point this out to Draco, who sneers as he glances towards the empty tables. "Those are for the _Gryffindors_," he says with obvious disgust.

I glance at the emblem on his black robes and see the green and silver colours of Slytherin, and I remember Fred's words about Slytherin House. A bad lot, power hungry. But Draco's been pleasant enough to me, so I remain where I am for now, as the Gryffindors file in.

I pick out Harry and Ron among them, very pointedly keeping a set distance away from each other, and when I catch Ron's eye he grins and points at his cheek in question. I wave it off, letting him know it's no big deal. It's as if he suddenly realizes where I'm sitting and his smile disappears, replaced by a guarded expression as he turns away and sits down with his friends.

He says something, and Harry and some girl with brown hair both turn to glance at me. The girl I recognize as the same one who reminded me of Fleur a few days ago, berating Fred and George about their plans to trick the Age Line.

I give a smile but find myself confused when neither return it, quickly turning back to their table as Professor Snape breezes in.

"You may all turn to page two hundred and twelve," he says in his odd, lilting tone. I don't have whatever book he's meaning everyone to open, but Draco catches the big guy's eye and motions towards a cupboard near his table.

He obediently fetches a copy for me, and I murmur a thanks, careful not to disturb the ongoing class. He still doesn't know what to do, and so just returns to his own table.

Draco shoots me a grin then, and reaches over to flip my book open to the right page. I can't imagine what Fred meant about the Slytherins, when so far today they're much more friendly – helpful, even – compared to the Gryffindor students at the other tables.

Next up is Charms, which isn't so bad content-wise. I'm assigned to the Ravenclaw fifth year Charms class, however, and no one in the group is eager to include me, so I'm relieved to see a few Beauxbatons faces at the lunch table. We chat easily about our classes so far, and I'm reluctant to return to class far too soon.

The last one of the day for me is Transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall. Harry, Ron, and Brunette Fleur are here, too. They're sitting at a table with room for four, so I sit down with them.

"I am _not_ looking forward to Double Potions Friday afternoon," I start, dropping my books onto the table. I have my own copies in this class, at least.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Ron says flippantly. "You seem to be getting on good with Snape's pets over at the Slytherin table."

"What's wrong with that?" I demand. It's a good thing McGonagall isn't here yet, since my voice starts out louder than I mean it to. "They were a hell of a lot more friendly than any of _you_ were earlier. I'm Ari, by the way." The last part I direct at Brunette Fleur.

"So they've told me," she says. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Ron, however isn't about to give up his argument. I'm not entirely sure why he's so worked up about this. "I just thought you weren't the type to hang out with that lot," he says in a sour tone.

"Oh, honestly," I say, tempted to throw my hands up. "They were nice enough to walk me to class and make sure I knew what was going on there. Just because your House and theirs have some sort of super-rivalry, doesn't mean I have to pick one side or the other! I'll make friends with whoever I choose to, and if that's too tough for you to accept, then I guess you won't be one of them!"

"Of course we're your friends," Harry says, obviously trying to appease me as my temper flares.

"Course," Ron repeats. I feel myself begin to relax at that. "You'll see soon enough what kinds of people those Slytherins are, especially Malfoy, and don't say I didn't warn you!"

"Ron," I begin, volume rising again. Luckily for Ron, the Professor arrives at exactly the right time, and I'm forced to bite my tongue.

We are all quiet during the class, and by the time McGonagall releases us for dinner, I'm much calmer.

"Look, Ari," Ron begins once we're all four out in the hallway.

"Let's not start this again," I say, holding up a hand. "We'll just have to see who's right in the end. I'm too hungry to argue, anyway – what's for supper tonight?"

"Wild boar," Hermione answers. The way she kept answering both Snape's and McGonagall's questions all day, I'm surprised she is still in the same classes as the others her age. "Although, such a dish is very stressful for the house elves, I'm sure. I don't know why we don't just have sandwiches every now and then, to give them a break."

"Now you've gone and started her again," Ron groans.

"It's important to think about these things!" she continues. And she launches into an impressive debate with Ron about the treatment of house elves.

"Well," I say, cutting her off as we reach the hall amidst a large crowd of students. "Maybe some of them like their lives," I say. Ron grins triumphantly; Hermione glowers at him.

"Why not fight to give them a choice? They can go free if they'd like, or keep their lives the same if that's what they want." I stop just inside and wave goodbye, planning on heading for my usual table.

"Where are you going?" Ron asks. "You can come sit with us – likely more fun than _that_ lot."

He's watching the other Beauxbatons students, who are chatting politely amongst each other. He's right, I know, and I find myself glancing towards the Gryffindor table, where Fred, George and Lee are roaring with laughter.

"I better join my school," I say. "Fleur might take it personally if I suddenly start sitting with a Hogwarts Champion."

"Right," Ron says, remembering that detail.

"But I'll follow you over for a moment. I need to talk to someone quick." So I walk with them to their table and slip onto the bench seat between the twins.

"Well," I say, glancing between the two, "are you going to pay up?"

"Don't know what you mean," they say.

"Yesterday on the field," I remind them, "I knew it was Fred who caught me when I fell. I want that bag."

"That was easy," George says, brushing it off, "we were wearing the same things as when we introduced ourselves."

"Doesn't count," Fred agrees, swigging pumpkin juice.

"Fine," I say. I reach for a basket of biscuits but all I accomplish is to bump arms with George, who has the unfortunate luck to be sitting on the left side of a southpaw and not being one himself.

"Would you pass me the biscuits, George?"

He reaches for the basket before realizing he's answered to his name. I smirk in triumph, and Lee laughs.

The three exchange a secretive look, and all nod before turning back to me.

"We'll do you one better," Fred says. "Meet us at the door to the Gryffindor Tower Saturday night."

"Why on earth would I do that?" I say, reluctantly thinking of Madame. I'd be breaking curfew if I agree to this meeting. Yet, I'm curious as to why they want me to meet them at all.

"Just trust us," George says. "Have we ever steered you wrong?"

I roll my eyes and stand. "I haven't even known you for a week," I say, lifting the biscuit basket over his head and returning to my own table.

Terese is watching me approach, with the sort of look you'd see on a cat who thinks it has a mouse cornered. "What were you doing over there?" she asks casually as I take my seat.

I wave the basket at her in answer and settle in to eat and listen to Fleur's and Jess's stories of their first day.


	12. Gryffindor Tower

Gryffindor Tower

Tuesday is filled with fifth year Herbology in the morning, and sixth year Care of Magical Creatures. I miss out on seeing Fred and George, though, as Hagrid sets me to a task he can mark for my OWL, and they attend class like normal.

Madame keeps me busy all that evening, and while Wednesday morning doesn't totally suck spent in my Study of Ancient Runes class, the whole evening is devoted to History of Magic, where I find myself dozing off halfway through. It's almost exciting in comparison when Madame has time again after dinner for me.

Thursday morning I finish off my Care of Magical Creatures project, earning an Outstanding and Hagrid's enthusiastic congratulations. Next week I'll be able to join the class. Defense Against the Dark Arts class in the afternoon is intense, taught by Moody, who asks me several questions I don't know the answer to. He's an interesting teacher, however, and I resolve to research some of what I don't know in my spare time.

"What do you guys know about how to fight off an Imperious Curse?" The subject comes up at dinner, in the hopes that the older students know more than I do. Moody had me practice trying to resist it this afternoon, something the others have been working on for weeks. Harry is so far the only one to do it.

Frances and Jean-Luc both look at me funny. "How do you even know about that?" Jean-Luc asks.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts class," I reply. "Do you know how to fight it off?"

"You aren't supposed to even know what the Imperious Curse is until seventh year," he replies. "And you're absolutely not supposed to be practising it. Maybe this is a concern for Madame. I don't know why they'd teach such young students about such dangerous things."

"Being young doesn't mean I'll never have to defend myself," I argue. "Besides, we're obviously not practising it ourselves, just learning how to defend against it, hence 'Defense Against the Dark Arts.'"

"I don't think it is right," Jean-Luc says again, annoying me into silence.

Friday starts off cool and cloudy – the perfect sort of day to spend outside, in my opinion, but after Transfiguration in the morning and Potions all afternoon, and although the Slytherins are as nice to me as they had been on Monday, I am almost glad when Fleur asks me to help her spend the evening practising different spells that might help her prepare for whatever the first task will me. It's the first time I've thought about the Triwizard Tournament all week.

I plod through most of my homework on Saturday, the day dragging by as I wait for night. After supper I spend some time in the library with Jess before heading back to the carriage fairly early. The others are all back, of course, by curfew but it feels like forever until they are all breathing deeply and I dare to begin my escape. It's never really been a question in my mind as to whether I'm going to meet the tonight.

The Forest is more than a little creepy by night, and I hurry through it, jumping at every little sound. It's a relief when the path opens onto the lawn.

I get lost twice inside the castle, whether I can blame the moving staircases or if it's due to my terrible sense of direction, I don't know but eventually I find myself standing in front of a large portrait of a larger lady.

"Password?" she requests, then squints at me. "I've never seen you before."

"No, you haven't," I agree, "and I don't have the password. But could I need to talk to someone inside."

"No entry without the password," she says firmly.

I open my mouth to argue, but instead find myself stepping back as the portrait swings open.

"We thought we could hear someone," Lee says, holding the door open for me.

I step past him and find myself in a large circular room decorated with red tapestries, a large fireplace on one wall giving the area a warm glow. Comfy chairs and sofas are clustered together in several areas; a few students are laughing together near the fire; Lee and I join Fred and George in another area back by a set of stairs.

"Where do those go?" I ask, gesturing at the stairwell.

"First time she's seen us in days, and that's what she begins with," Fred says, shaking his head.

"Been spending too much time with Hermione, have you?" George chimes in.

"The dormitories," Lee answers, "that one's the boys'; girls' is up that way." He points at another staircase off to other side of the fireplace.

"Anyway," Fred starts, "you wanted to know what we had in the dining hall the other day?"

I nod, figuring I'll find out faster if I keep quiet.

George lifts a small trunk off of the floor and sets it on my lap. He nods for me to open it, and I do, revealing dozens of the brightly coloured wrappers as my left arm collides with his right. He hasn't learned yet to avoid sitting to my left.

"Sorry. What are they?" I say, picking one of the candies up. It feels to me like a hard candy.

"That one there is a Ton-tongue toffee," he says. "Makes your tongue swell and turn purple."

"You're looking at the future inspiration of young jokers everywhere," Fred breaks in. "George and I have been developing them for a while now. That one you're holding is the newest one – we have a whole line dedicated to helping students get out of class."

"That would be the Skiving Snackboxes," Lee informs me. "There's four kinds of Snackbox; Fainting Fancies, Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nougat, and Puking Pastille."

I feel sort of like I've just stepped into a real-life Charlie and the Chocolate Factory scene.

"You just eat the coloured end to gain the effect, then take the white part to counteract the effects once you're safely out of class," George explains, unwrapping one to show me.

"They're still in the experimental phase," Fred adds.

"Which is why we've invited you here," George grins.

"We've tested them on ourselves already," Lee says, "but we need more than just three test subjects before we can sell them to the school."

"My prize for winning the bet is to become a guinea pig?" I'm amused by the idea that they find this to be a reward.

"Well, yeah," Fred nods. "As long as a few more test runs go smoothly, we thought you could help spread the word in your classes that we're up for business."

"That won't be for a while," Lee clarifies.

"Well, let me take a few with me, then," I decide. They motion for me to grab a few, and I do. "If these really work," I tell them, "I want in."

The three exchange a look, and I worry they're not ready to let anyone else into their little group.

"I'm not sure we need anyone else at this point," Lee says slowly.

"Here I thought you'd welcome another brain full of ideas," I say, standing as I slip the test candies into my pocket. "Have any of you thought about short-term transfiguration candies? Something like that would sell, I'd think."

And with that I say goodnight and steal back out of the castle, leaving them to think on the idea. I bite into a candy as I walk across the moonlit lawn, and my nose instantly becomes a blood spout. The white half, however, quickly remedies it as it's supposed to.

"Nosebleed Nougat," I say to myself, not having checked to see which I was trying. "Awesome."

I wasn't looking forward to trying the Puking Pastille, that was for sure.

The following week, at my first actual Care of Magical Creatures class, Fred and George take seats on the lawn in front of Hagrid's hut on either side of me.

"So?" Fred asks in a low voice.

"They work like a charm," I say, "all of them." Although they couldn't pay me to try the Puking Pastille again – I hate being sick.

"Brilliant," George says. "You want to try a Ton-Tongue Toffee, by chance?"


	13. Let There be Dragons

Let There Be Dragons

One Saturday night a couple weeks later, I'm trying to focus on learning the steps for a particularly finicky potion in the carriage common room when there's a heavy knock on the door.

All the others are tucked away in bed for the night, more concerned about getting a good rest than they are about having fun on a Saturday. Madame draws herself up from her chair across the room and swings the door open wide. Wide enough, luckily, that I can see it's Hagrid standing just outside.

Madame turns to me and raises a brow. "Good night, Ari." Her tone leaves no room for questioning, and I let her see me sulk out of the common room. I hide just out of sight, however, in the hall and wait as the door closes behind her.

My curiosity is piqued – what on earth would make Madame slip out into the forest at night, and with Hagrid? I wait another moment before I get too impatient and follow the pair out into the woods.

I stand outside the carriage for a moment, looking and listening for any sign as to which direction they headed in. Fortunately, both Madame and Hagrid being sizable people, it isn't long before I determine the heavy footfalls are heading no deeper into the Forest, but parallel to the grounds. I follow quietly behind, pausing behind one tree until I feel it's safe to dart out to another.

After a few minutes, they change their course slightly and come out on the edge of the forest, almost at the other end of the lake. As soon as I reach the edge and peer down the treeline, I see what has drawn Madame so far out.

Dragons.

Four of them, actually, tethered with the thickest chains I've ever seen. For a moment I'm frozen in place, completely unprepared for what's before me. They're agitated, blasting fiery breath at random intervals at the handlers, who are shouting back and forth at each other.

"Alright!" One shouts to the others. "On three, everyone! One, two, _Stupify_!" Magic flies through the air as the beams hit the beasts. There must be more than a dozen men down in the clearing, holding steady as the dragons cease their fight and settle on the grassy slope.

Even asleep, they're magnificent, their scaly hides glistening in the moonlight. In the far reaches of the Rockies dragons find homes, too, but I've never dared go searching; being underage, I wouldn't even have the protection of a wand.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, louder than I mean to. Madame turns her head in my direction and I dart behind a tree. "Did you 'ear something?" she asks Hagrid.

"Nope, not a thing," he says nervously, fidgeting with his beard. "Want ter come get a closer look?"

Madame is quiet for only a moment, and when no further noises come from my direction, she quite readily agrees to venture closer. I want nothing more than to follow them closer, but after almost giving myself away, I know I should just head back.

Not looking forward to returning through the Forbidden Forest alone, I reluctantly turn back towards the carriage, only to come face to face with a man I don't recognize. I bite back a scream. Even farther away, Madame will hear so loud a noise.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks gruffly, glancing back towards the resting beasts.

"I just followed them," I say, wondering if he's going to turn me in to Madame.

"How much did you see?" he runs a hand through his hair. "Of course you saw them. So much for keeping the first task a surprise."

Of course they're for the first task – that would explain why there's four.

"Hey," I say, temper flaring, "the secret was out the minute he brought Madame down here – no way she's going to keep that from Fleur."

He concedes that point, and I find myself warming up to him for listening. Not a lot of adults do.

"Where do they come from?" I ask him, changing the subject as I turn to watch. "I mean, I know the big black one is a Horntail, native to Hungary, but did you bring him straight from there, or do they come from somewhere else?"

"She," he corrects, but he looks impressed. "Not a lot of students could tell the differences between species in the dark like that. We brought them from Romania, actually. There's a dragon sanctuary there where we study them. These four are particularly vicious, nesting mothers of any species usually are."

"That small one," I say, "a Welsh Green?"

"Very good," he says with a raised eyebrow.

"Have you ever seen a Peruvian Vipertooth?" I ask excitedly. "Or a Ukrainian Ironbelly? Are they really as big as they say?"

"Bigger," he says with a laugh. "Come on. I'll tell you whatever you want to know on the way back to the castle. It's dangerous to be so close to the Forest after sunset."

"So I've been told," I say, remembering Hagrid's warning the first night. "But I'm not going back to the castle. At least, not tonight. The carriage is in the Forest, just past Hagrid's hut."

"Never thought I'd see the day," he says, starting back the way I came, "when a Beauxbatons student would venture out through the Forest after curfew just to satisfy a curiosity."

"I'm a disgrace to my training," I say glibly, though it's the truth. It is, after all, why Madame felt it necessary to bring me along this year in the first place. "Now, tell me about the dragons."

He laughs at my enthusiasm and just as he said he would, he makes conversation about the beasts and his work in Romania until we are within sight of the carriage.

"Thanks," I say shyly when he comes to a stop. "I could've made it on my own, you know, but the Forest is pretty creepy at night. So, thanks…" I trail off, realizing I don't know his name.

"It's Charlie," he fills in. "And it's no problem, really. The dragons shouldn't wake until sometime tomorrow, now. It was nice to talk to someone who really wants to hear this stuff – not just the usual adventure stories, but the boring details we tend to keep to ourselves. Anyway, I can hear your Headmistress coming back up the path – you'd better get into bed before you're caught. If Hogwarts professors were tough on rule-breakers, I'd imagine Beauxbatons staff rule with iron fists."

"They sure do," I say wryly. I wave goodbye to Charlie and slip back into the carriage. Everyone else is still sound asleep, except for Jess, who's sitting up in bed watching the door.

"You need to stop this," she says, tone dangerously quiet.

"I'm not hurting anyone," I say, "Madame doesn't even know I was gone."

"Not this time," she snaps, "but even you are not lucky every time."

"Look," I say, crawling into my own bed. "I know you're just looking out for me, but you need to stop worrying. I'm fine, Jess, really, you can back off a bit. I know what I'm doing."

"Well, don't say I never warned you," she says, quieter now as we hear Madame enter the carriage. She turns over, away from me, and doesn't say another word.


	14. First Task

First Task

The next day before we head out towards the castle for breakfast, I tell Fleur I need help with my hair again. She fixes it for me as the others start up the path. I lower my voice once they're well ahead of us and put my hand on her arm.

"Fleur, there's something I need to tell you," I whisper, but she's already turning to me with wide eyes.

"I have something to tell you, too," she says, "I'm supposed to face a _dragon_ on Tuesday. A dragon!"

So Madame did tell her, and she wasted no time doing so. I don't bother to tell her that I knew, instead focus on her as she stresses about how nervous she is to face the first task now that she knows what it will be.

I reassure her that she will be fine and give her a general lesson on dragons as we walk up the lawn in the morning sun. They're expecting snow by the end of the week, and I can't wait. Back home, I heard, there's been snow since mid-October, an early winter. I forget how much I miss home this time of year.

Fleur is quiet at the table, and I draw her in to conversation as best I can.

"Come with me to the library," she requests, once the others wander back to the carriage.

"How about I meet you there," I say. "I'll be there in twenty."

Distracted, she only nods and continues on ahead, while I lean against the hall door, waiting. I don't have to wait long, however, before Harry and Hermione approach, sans-Ron. He's apparently upset at Harry about the Tournament, but I don't know exactly why.

"Harry," I say, catching his eye. "I need to talk to you. You can come too, of course," I tell Hermione, who hangs back.

They follow me down the hall and into a little alcove. I check to make sure no one's coming before turning back to my friends.

"The first task has something to do with dragons," I whisper intently. Madame Maxime may have told Fleur already, but it would be wrong to keep the news from another friend just because we go to different schools.

Harry, however, isn't surprised. "I know," he admits. "Hagrid just told me to meet him yesterday, and I followed him out there. I didn't know that's why he told me to come."

"How do you know?" Hermione asks, her need for answers greater than her alarm. "And why would you tell a Hogwarts Champion?"

I turn to Hermione first. "I wouldn't think that that mattered between friends," I say, offended that she would expect anything less of me. I can feel my temper flaring.

Then I realize what Harry had said.

"You followed Hagrid last night?" I ask, confused. "That's what I did. I didn't see you out there."

He looks away from my stare. "Well," he says awkwardly. "I didn't see you, either. It was pretty dark out there."

"Yeah," I agree. It was dark, but I'm not totally buying it. Still, if he's hiding something, the only way to get it out is to trust him until I gain his in return.

"Someone should warn Cedric," I say, dropping the subject. "Do you want to, or should I?"

"I will," he says, "and I think Karkaroff knows, too, so you can bet Krum doesn't need any help from us."

I think about the Durmstrang Headmaster and his shady manner. No doubt if he knew, Krum knew.

"Okay," I say. "I'm supposed to meet Fleur in the library in about five minutes. I'd better go. But Harry? Good luck."

"Thanks," he says, looking worried. Much as dragons fascinate me, I'd be nervous too if I had to face one. If I envied the Champions before, I certainly didn't now.

Tuesday morning at breakfast, there's far more talking than eating. Over at the Gryffindor table, Harry looks almost green and hasn't touched his plate. Beside me, Fleur isn't doing much better, though she's very good at putting on a show of calmly picking at her plate.

I don't say anything to her, thinking I wouldn't be helping her by bringing it up, nor would it be smart to quell her nerves with a joke. Knowing her, she's focussed on what's ahead, and the best way to support her is to simply sit with her, no distractions.

Soon enough, the call for the champions to leave the hall and the professors begin to gather the rest of us up to head outside.

"Come, girls," Madame instructs us, after parting ways with Fleur. "We will 'ave front row seats to watch ze task."

True to her word, we are settled into the stands in the second row, one back from the judges. Madame being one of them, she takes a seat ahead of us and the Durmstrang students soon take their seats in our row as well. The rest of the stands are quickly filling up with Hogwarts students in far greater numbers.

On the edge of our group, I end up sitting beside the newcomers. The one next to me, a black-haired, burly guy with an easy grin – nothing like the brooding Krum – catches my attention as an announcer explains the first task to the crowd.

"You're the young one Beauxbatons brought along," he says. Obviously. The others are no doubt in the same classes as the Durmstrang lot. I'm the only one they wouldn't have met. "You're just a little kitten," he continues in a condescending tone, eyeing me unabashedly.

The way he's looking at me irritates me, and I reply scathingly. "You'd better be more careful," I tell him, "mistaking a dragon for a kitten in the real world could get you killed."

His grin only grows wider, obviously more amused than I am. "Alright, little dragon," he teases. "Are you threatening me?"

"Not yet," I retort, "but don't get too comfortable."

That makes him laugh. I pointedly turn back to the arena as the announcer tells the crowd that each Champion will face a dragon one by one, the object of the task to retrieve a golden egg from underneath their assigned beast. I feel bad for whoever gets the Horntail.

Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Champion is first up, facing off against the blue-grey Swedish Short-Snout. He expertly transfigures a nearby rock into a dog, directing the form to draw the dragon away from both him and the nest. It works, and Cedric darts towards the nest. The crowd gasps collectively as the dragon suddenly gives up on the dog and turns back to the nest. She sees Cedric bent over the nest and lets loose a barrage of flame, searing Cedric's whole side from head to toe. He retreats with his target and the Dragonologists remove the worked up Short-Snout.

The smaller Welsh Green is ushered in next, followed by Fleur. We all perk up when she enters. Very calmly, she casts some sort of charm on the beast, lulling her dragon into a trance. She cautiously ventures close; unfortunately, as she reaches under the dragon for her golden egg, the Welsh Green snores, sending a burst of flame right at Fleur, whose skirt catches fire. She reacts quickly and puts it out with a stream of water from her wand before retreating victoriously without further harm.

The crowd is quieter for Fleur than for their own Champion, but they still make polite noise. Even my reserved schoolmates cheer her on. While the team removes Fleur's dragon, my group all stand up.

"Where are you going?" I ask, as Isabelle moves to leave.

She looks at me funny. "We 'ave seen Fleur's task now. Why would we stay for the rest?"

"Suit yourself," I say, shrugging, "I'm going to stay."

The bench beside me isn't empty for long, once the row behind me notices the room. Students jump down to fill the spaces, no doubt creating a domino effect behind us.

"Oh," I say, looking over. "Hey Fred, George. Hi Lee. I didn't even know you were right there."

"We would be distracted, too," Fred says.

"If some dreamy exchange student had struck up a conversation with us," George butts in. "Little dragon," he adds, with a laugh.

Lee and Fred laugh, disgruntling the Durmstrang guy in question, who of course can hear us perfectly fine from his seat just on my other side. He doesn't have time to say anything, though, as Krum is stepping out into the arena to face the Chinese Fireball.

Without hesitating, he mutters an incantation and aims right for the creature's eyes. The great beast howls in pain, stumbling back from the nest. I want to cover my ears to block out the dragon's tormented scream.

Krum successfully retrieves the golden egg, but the stumbling dragon has blindly crushed most of the eggs in the nest. The crowd murmurs at that; the contestants weren't to damage the actual eggs. Charlie, standing with the others just outside of the arena, is shaking his head at Krum. In the bright sunlight, I notice his tousled hair is red, something I overlooked last night in the dark.

The rest of my bench however, cheers loudly for their Champion, and for good reason. Krum, the fastest so far, has also earned the highest marks to be given out.

Then it's only Harry left, who steps slowly out into the arena as if in a trance like Fleur's dragon. He's got a good plan ready, though, when he utilizes a summoning spell to retrieve his broomstick. He flies towards the dragon head-on, only managing to agitate the creature, causing her to attack, breathing fire and swinging her horned tail simultaneously. Harry dodges the flames just fine, but the crowd gasps collectively as the sharp spikes on her tail rip into his shoulder. More careful now, he deftly lures the great Horntail up into the air before rocketing back down to pluck the golden egg out of the nest like an overgrown snitch.

The crowd is thunderous – I can't hear myself think, even. I cheer along with the rest for my friend, ignoring the sulky Durmstrangs who don't make a sound.

Scores are revealed and despite Karkaroff's unfairly low judgment – only a four out of ten – Harry pulls alongside Krum in the scoring, tied for first. The crowd erupts again as Harry is escorted off of the field and Charlie's crew removes the last of the dragons.

The Hogwarts students all linger, chatting and laughing, celebrating their two Champions' great work against the dragons earlier. I stick around too, when Madame doesn't search me out to send me back to the carriage.

Much later, I'm standing with Lee, Fred and George on the edge of the crowd when several of the Dragonologists reach the crowd, pausing at our little group.

When Charlie's eyes meet mine, he gives a little grin just before the others notice him approaching.

"You're behaving yourselves, I hope," he says to the twins. "Mum is worried you're too busy making more of your little tricks to study."

I feel like I'm missing something, the way he's talking so easily to them. Then I think back to last night, and what Charlie said when we reached the carriage. _If Hogwarts professors were tough on rule-breakers, I'd imagine Beauxbatons staff rule with iron fists._ Charlie went to school here, and seems to know them personally, and then there's the hair…

"Never mind Mum," Fred says. "If you say anything to make her suspicious, we'll tell her you brought dragons out for Harry to face. That's much worse than our business."

Charlie laughs. "She'll find out about that anyway, you know. But don't worry, I won't say anything anyway. Just teasing. Have any of you seen Dumbledore around? I need a word before we take off."

"Are you _related_?" I blurt out, interrupting their banter.

"That's what they tell us," George says with a shrug.

"How many of you are there?" As an only child, I've always been fascinated by siblings.

"You haven't met us all," Fred says vaguely.

"Matter of fact," George adds, "there's still one here at Hogwarts you haven't met."

Charlie laughs at the expression on my face and takes his leave, slipping deeper into the crowds in search of Dumbledore. And when no one will say any more about the mysterious fifth sibling, I leave the crowd in favour of the quieter carriage. The day has been exciting enough even for me.

Fleur is back already when I return. The others are laughing and drinking Flutterby wine, showering Fleur with attention after her ordeal.

"Congratulations!" I say, sidling up alongside her and Jess. "That was epically awesome. Real History of Magic-type stuff!"

"Is that what you told 'Arry, too?" Her tone is hard.

"No," I say, uneasy, "I haven't seen any of the other Champions yet. What's wrong, Fleur? You seem upset."

"Of course I am!" she exclaims, turning to face me. "I thought we were friends!"

"We are, Fleur," I assure her. "Of course we are!"

"Truly?" she asks. She doesn't wait for an answer. "A true friend would 'ave been 'ere to welcome me back after that 'orrible task. Where were you? Everyone else came back to congratulate me, only you stayed. I saw you in the stands, with those 'Ogwarts boys – you are choosing your new friends over me – over us!"

She gestures a little tipsily at Jess, who doesn't intervene. "I do not think I 'ave room for a friend like you."

"Fleur," I say, very taken aback. "Of course we're friends! I'm sorry, I didn't realize I'd stayed so long today, honestly!"

"I don't want to 'ear it," she says, refilling her wine glass. She turns back to the others, pointedly ignoring me. I expect most of the others to follow her lead, of course, but I'm hurt when Jess turns away, too.

I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do, but when my friends don't turn back around I quietly let myself back out of the carriage and head for the Abraxan herd. I don't return to the carriage until the last glimmer of sunset threatens to disappear, and I slip past the party and down to the girls' dormitory, where I lay beneath my covers and listen to the laughter until my tired eyes finally close and I sleep.


	15. A Date

A Date

I spend the next week or so trying to apologise to Fleur, but she won't hear it. Just as bad, the others all follow her lead and ignore me every time I sit at the end of the Ravenclaw table or enter the carriage. Finally, I've had enough and take a seat with my friends at the Gryffindor table for breakfast one morning.

By the time dinner comes around and I'm still sitting separate from my usual group, the hall is buzzing about it. I hear snatches of several conversations mentioning my name, or simply 'the youngest Beauxbatons girl" in the same sentences as 'Gryffindor table", "Harry" and "Weasleys." I ignore them all and focus instead on being with people who include me in their conversations, something I'd missed sorely this past week with my own table.

When the hall starts to empty out and Hermione invites me up to the Gryffindor common room, I gladly follow them to Gryffindor Tower. I would only be faced with the same stony silence in the carriage, anyway. I would give Fleur space until she decided to forgive me.

The others give the Fat Lady the new password (Fairy Lights) and we are soon lounging near the fire. Ginny, a red-haired third year who I found out was the mysterious fifth sibling when I asked Ron after the first task, joins our little group.

Fred and George sink down on the couch, too, pushing poor Ron into the arm awkwardly. "Hey, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?" Fred asks his brother.

"No, he's off with a letter," Ron replies. "Why?"

"George wants to invite him to the ball," Fred is quick to reply mockingly.

"We have a letter to deliver," George explains.

"Who have you two been writing to?" Ron asks inquisitively.

"None of your business," Fred says sharply. Ron looks at me as if I might know, but it's the first I've heard of them writing to anyone. "So who are you all taking for dates to the ball?"

"No one, yet," Ron replies.

I sit up straight with the realization that the Yule Ball is coming up quickly. Suddenly all the girlish giggling in the halls makes sense. I need to remind myself to ask Madame for permission to spend Christmas in London. I'd planned on skipping the ball completely and going instead to visit my mother.

"If you don't hurry, all the good ones will be taken," Fred replies sagely.

"All the good ones?" Hermione pipes up defensively. "You mean all the pretty ones."

"Well, yeah," Ron says stupidly. "Wouldn't want to end up with some pimply-faced Hufflepuff."

Hermione stands abruptly. "I'm going to bed," she huffs.

Ginny and I exchange a look after she leaves, and it suddenly dawns on my why Hermione is so bothered by Ron's shallow judgment. I doubt if either Ron or Harry have realized Hermione's got a crush.

"Who are you taking?" Ron asks, turning back to Fred.

"Angelina," Fred says smugly.

"You've already asked her?"

"Oh," says Fred. "Right. Hey, Angelina!" he calls across the room.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna go to the ball with me?"

"Guess so," she replies, grinning a little. I wonder briefly if there's anything between them before conversation starts again.

"That's how it's done, little brother," Fred smirks.

Fred and George stand up to leave again, off to where, I don't know, when George turns back to me.

"Almost sunset," he says. "Shouldn't you be heading back soon?"

"Oh," I say, realizing the time. The shorter evenings are hard to adjust to every year. "Yeah. See you guys." The others say goodnight and I follow Fred and George as they duck back through the door.

"Say, Ari," George says casually once the Fat Lady swings shut behind us. "You're not going with anyone yet are you?"

"Nope," I answer absentmindedly, reminded again that I need to talk to Madame soon about London.

"D'you want to go with me?" he asks. I almost stop walking in surprise, not having comprehended where the questions were heading.

"Not as a _date_ date," he elaborates when I don't answer right away. "More of a friends thing, really. Conditional on your agreement to sit to my left, since even I get tired of bruises on my elbow."

"That's not the problem," I reassure him. "It's just I was thinking about skipping the whole thing and going to London. But I guess I could stay. I'll be in London in the summer, anyway. And I haven't ever _bruised_ you, big baby. You should know to watch where you sit by now."

"Or you could just work on learning how to use a fork right-handed like the rest of us," he says, at the same moment Lee turns the corner into our sights. "We'll see you in class tomorrow, then," he says, and the two join Lee, leaving me to my thoughts as I head down the stairs alone.

Part of me feels guilty for choosing to stay instead of visiting with Mom, but I just tell myself she won't know the difference, anyway. My mind drifts to her as I shuffle out through the skiff of snow covering the ground.

When I was really young, Mom checked herself into the mental ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I don't really remember much of her from before then, but as long as I can remember, she's been unstable – lucid and carrying a conversation on minute, then spouting nonsense maniacally and scratching herself bloody the next. She does recognize me, though she never remembers how long it's been since she's seen me. I tell myself she won't know the difference if I'm away for a while longer, and in truth, she probably won't.

I wish Fleur and Jess were speaking to me, so I could tell them how I felt about this, since they're two of the very few people who know my Mom lives in a mental ward. But when I enter the carriage, they make a point of not looking up and with a heavy sigh, I head straight for bed.


	16. Christmas at the Castle

Christmas at the Castle

As I always do on Christmas Day, I wake up far too early. Leaving everyone else still in bed, I wind my way through the Forest and up to the castle. The Forbidden Forest doesn't scare me like it used to, though I still wouldn't want to go deeper in alone. I eat quickly, as there's not many people to talk to so early, then I climb the seven flights of stairs to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady lets me in when I tell her the password, and I find my friends all already gathered near the fire, talking and laughing.

"Merry Christmas!" I say, and they all return the greeting when they look up at me.

"We've got a present for you, Ari," George says cheerfully.

"Well, I don't have any for you," I say, hesitating. The curiosity wins out, though. "What is it?"

Fred and George both take little cream cakes out of bright yellow wrappers and pop them into their mouths. Instantly, two big yellow birds replace the twins. Momentarily, they shed their bright feathers and change back into their regular selves, but I'm laughing so hard I don't even notice at first. The transformation reminded me strangely of Big Bird, a character off of a Muggle show I watched as a child.

"Canary creams," Fred says. "Just like you suggested!" He hands me one to try and I don't refuse, the odd feeling of transfiguring taking over as everyone bursts into laughter again.

I spend most of the morning among them, before quietly heading back to the carriage around noon. Gem is happy to see me, and I present him with an apple I brought from the hall. "Merry Christmas," I tell him, too, and he whickers at me as if replying with his own _Merry Christmas to you, too_.

I spend hours in the cold with him before reluctantly making my way back to the carriage to get ready for the evening. I give Fleur and Jess a festive greeting as well, but don't let it bother me when their replies are chilled.

I fight with my hair for far too long with little result as I try to put it up nicely. I think about asking Fleur to fix it like she did the first day we came here, but I seriously doubt she'd help at this point. I opt to let it down, unruly waves floating around my waist. I rarely leave it down like this, since the long strands get in the way, but I can hardly wear it in a ponytail in dress robes, and I can't make it do anything nicer.

My robes are a vibrant blue so shimmery they almost sparkle. Other than the colour, though, they're rather plain and I don't stand out against the more elaborate robes of the other Beauxbatons girls, who all look even more vibrant and untouchable than usual. I don't bother to accessorize with anything more than I usually wear before stepping out into the snow with the others.

Roger Davies, who I know as the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain thanks to Fred, is waiting in the entryway as we pass, and extends an arm to Fleur. I didn't know he'd asked her, and the fact that I didn't saddens me for a moment. We should all three have been talking and planning this night together.

The others are already gathered in the ballroom, where dozens of circular tables are set up for the feast, and I feel awkward as I join them – everyone falls silent as they see me.

"You don't even look like you," Ron says, stupefied. He's looking at me sort of like a strange-looking lizard he's spotted for the first time.

The others aren't any better.

"Is your hair always that long?" George says, in the same tone Ron's adopted.

"No," I say sarcastically. "I'm bald, actually, just switching out wigs for the night."

"You look good," Angelina says, more polite than the guys. "They just don't know how to say it. Nice necklace, by the way. Where'd you get it?"

"Oh. Thanks," I say, looking down at my only adornment. It's an eleven-point snowflake made of hundreds of tiny diamonds. Though I'm always wearing it, tonight it's visible just above the neckline of my robes. "Family heirloom. Where's Hermione at?"

Ron's eyes snap to a spot just behind me, having spotted her at that moment. "I don't believe it," he says in an even weirder tone than he used for me.

I spin around to see what's so surprising to him and when I find her in the crowd I can almost understand the reason for Ron's flabbergasted stare. Hermione has entered with none other than Victor Krum, much to the irritation of his fan club.

She looks absolutely stunning, in robes of a purple-blue colour. Unlike me, she expertly twined her own locks into a gorgeous, smooth style. What's more than her physical appearance, though, she's positively glowing despite her obvious nerves as most of the room stops to stare at her.

I'm half-waiting for Ron's jaw to hit the floor as he stares at her.

"I love that colour on her," I say to the others as I wave at Hermione, offering an encouraging smile.

"Periwinkle," Angelina names it. "It's dazzling."

Most of us find a table together – Hermione, however, is led by Krum over to the Durmstrang crowd, eliciting a scowl from Ron. George must not be too concerned about his elbow, since he obliviously pulls out a chair for me to his right.

"Wish they'd hurry up and serve dinner," Ron mutters, watching Hermione from across the room.

George reaches up and grabs the arm of someone passing by, and I look up to see some guy in spiffy navy robes narrowing his eyes at the delay. "Weren't you going to say hi, Perce?" he says casually, ignoring the cold look.

"I'm here on business," he says stiffly. "I've been promoted to Mr. Crouch's personal assistant. I'm representing him here and I don't have time to be distracted by you miscreants. Harry, there's a spot reserved for you and your date at the head table."

"Congratulations, Weatherby," Fred chuckles as Harry stands. The other guy shoots him a withering look at promptly turns from our table, leading Harry to the front.

"I'm only joking, Percy!" Fred calls after him, but Percy doesn't even turn to acknowledge him.

"Three guesses as to who he is," George says to me, eyes twinkling.

"I have no idea," I say, watching Percy closely for a hint. "Should I know him because of Mr. Crouch?"

Suddenly, between George's amusement and my own realization that Percy's hair matches the twins' perfectly, I gasp in understanding.

"You have _another_ brother?" I ask in amazement.

The twins and Ron laugh at my interest. No wonder George's question was amusing to him – it's no secret among my friends that I am fascinated by large families.

"How many of you _are_ there?" I ask them. I'd thought just the five was amazingly large.

"Well," Fred says secretively, "you still haven't met us all."

"Technically, she hasn't properly met Percy," George says in disgust. "Rude git didn't introduce himself."

"Maybe if you two had introduced us _before_ you begun to torment him," Angelina points out, "it would be an entirely different story."

"Probably not," Fred says pragmatically.

We all smile brightly when Ginny comes by with a camera to take our pictures.

Then Dumbledore is speaking at the tables magically fill with food. Fred and Angelina start their own discussion, Ron is mumbling through a mouthful of food to his date, and George pries open a Wizarding Cracker by my ear, making me shriek in shock before we are caught up in peals of laughter as we all dig into Christmas Dinner together.


	17. The Yule Ball

The Yule Ball

Much later, after everyone has had their fill and the talk dies down, the band sets up to the side and all the tables vanish as we all stand. The four Champions and their dates take the floor first, some more graceful than others, Fleur and Roger, and Krum and Hermione all effortlessly gliding about the room, while Harry sort of stumbles along comically. I do a very good job of remaining serious, until I look over at Fred and George and we all have to muffle our laughter.

Soon, the professors begin to join in and the students take the cue, the most eager ones stepping out onto the floor. Fred leads Angelina out after a moment, and with a shrug, George extends a hand to me, a mischievous grin ruining an almost chivalrous moment. I play along and take his hand with a little curtsy like we are taught at school, and we finish out the song. One more, and then George cuts in for a dance with Angelina, and Fred gamely takes over. An older Ravenclaw cuts in for the next, and I soon find myself with a new partner at each song, until finally need to sit for a moment.

A few tables along the edge are still in place, and it's over here that I find Ron and Harry sitting down dateless, Ron in a heated discussion with Hermione. Krum, I notice, is over at the drinks table pouring a couple butterbeers.

"Hot in here, eh," I say when I reach them, "nice of Krum to go for drinks."

"How _nice_ indeed," Ron says bitingly. "Vicky's such a gentleman, don't you agree, Ari? So dreamy – that little grunt of his just about makes me weak in the knees."

"What is with you?" Hermione asks, taken aback by Ron's vicious tone.

"As if you don't know!" he returns loudly. "I don't see how you could do this to us – to Harry, I mean – he's Durmstrang's Champion, for crying out loud. He and Harry are in competition, and you're prancing around, fraternizing with the enemy!"

Hermione opens her mouth with a retort, but I beat her to it.

"Fraternizing with the enemy?" I repeat hotly. "So am I your enemy, too? Have you forgotten that I'm not a Hogwarts student? I'm technically here with George, after all. What would you say if the rest of the Beauxbatons group gave me a hard time?"

"I didn't mean you," Ron says hurriedly. "It's different with Vicky–"

"_Don't _call him that," Hermione says angrily. She stalks off towards the dance floor.

Krum reaches the table then. "Where is Hermione?"

"No idea," Ron says darkly.

"That way," I say, helpfully pointing him in the right direction.

"Thanks," he says, surprised at my friendly manner.

"It'll cost you," I say, eyeing the butterbeers. He hesitates, then hands me one with a shrug before following after his date.

"Glad to see you all making friends with Krum," someone says enthusiastically from behind me. I turn around and watch as Percy pulls up a chair beside mine. He carries a self-important air about himself I've never noticed with any of his siblings. "That's the whole point of the Tournament, you know."

"Yeah," Ron agrees, looking at me. "Speaking of which, you haven't met our Beauxbatons mascot, Ari, yet."

Percy turns to me in surprise, sticking out a hand. "Beauxbatons, you say? Best-mannered school out there, I've always heard. I thought I saw you sitting with Fred and George earlier, but I must be mistaken. They are incorrigible, those two. There they are now – practically assaulting poor Mr. Bagman. Thought even they'd have more respect for senior Ministry members."

Percy watches his brothers in disgust as they crowd around Mr. Bagman, talking intently to him about something. Percy doesn't really need to worry, though – Mr. Bagman escapes the two rather quickly, and, noticing Harry sitting here, pulls up a chair at our table.

"I apologise," Percy says regally, "I hope my brothers weren't troubling you, sir."

"Oh, no," Bagman says breezily. "They were just looking for marketing advice in regards to their joke merchandise. I'm happy to help, really – told them I'd get them in touch with someone at Zonko's."

I watch Bagman closely. Above his easy smile, there are beads of perspiration starting at his hairline. I don't see how his quick talk with Fred and George could have contained as much information as Bagman says. Percy, however, doesn't look too happy about his brothers' ambition.

"Bet he'll be sending an owl home to Mum before he even leaves the castle tonight," Ron leans over and mutters with a shake of his head. He and Harry get up and move out into the crowd.

Percy and Bagman move on to boring Ministry talk that somehow get caught up in.

"Really, the Animagus registry has been incomplete for years," Percy is saying. "Of course, if we really cracked down on the regulations surrounding those who are able to teach it..."

"There you are." I look up, never happier to see George approaching. "Hey, Perce. I'm just going to steal my date back, before you bore her to death. The last thing Dumbledore wants to worry about tonight, I'm sure, is all the paperwork that would be needed."

Percy scowls at his brother, but I say a polite goodbye as George pulls me away.

"You look like you're about to catch fire," he says, noticing my flushed face.

"I think I am," I reply, as we wind our way through the crowded floor.

"Let's ditch this show," he replies. I'm all for that idea, and we make our way to the door.

Out in the hallway, George takes off in a dead run. Normally, we'd be neck-and-neck pelting down the corridor. In my restrictive dress robes, however, I'm a good ten feet behind him when we burst out into the cold night air.

As soon as I pass through the door, I'm blasted in the face with some cold force from every direction. I shout in bewildered alarm. Reaching up to inspect my cheek, I find myself brushing snow off of my face.

Fred and Lee, who apparently had been hiding on either side of the doors, are laughing hysterically with George, the three doubled over and out of breath. I pull out my wand and magically spray them with a skiff of white powder off of a nearby snowbank.

"Hey," Lee protests, "this is a no-wands sort of fight."

"No matter," I say, putting mine away. "I can beat you Muggle-style just as well."

Before we can begin, Angelina exits the castle to find us, hands raised and loaded with snow, about to begin the war.

"If you can be decent for just a little longer," she says to Fred, laughing, "they're just about to wrap up the dance, and I'm looking for a partner. Alicia's asking about you, too, Lee."

"Another time," they say reluctantly, tossing the snow they've collected in my direction, before following Angelina up into the castle.

"Well," George says as they leave, "d'you want to follow them back?"

I have no great wish to force myself back into the sweltering ballroom, though, and George doesn't look any more eager at the prospect.

"Nah," I say, launching the snowball I was holding right at him, "you can walk me back to the carriage."

"Very well," he says, leaning down to snatch up some snow, "but it's not going to be the sort of walk your Beauxbatons boys are taught to do."

I, however, am already racing ahead across the grounds, dodging left and right in a pell-mell fashion. It's a short way to the carriage like this, and by the time we reach our destination, we're both soaked, lungs hurting from the laughter.

"You sure you don't want a dry robe for the walk back?" I ask, as we come to a stop. "I'm sure I can filch one of the boys' – you could have a lovely blue souvenir, even."

"I'm alright," he says, drawing in a deep breath. It's harder to bring enough air into our lungs in the frigid temperatures. "You should get inside before you catch a chill, though."

"Yeah," I agree, "it would just break my heart to have to miss my lessons with Madame tomorrow."

"That would be the most tragic thing I've ever heard of," George says, dead-pan. He gives a little wave and turns back towards the castle. "See you tomorrow."

"Of course," I say, equally solemn. "But, hey…George?"

"Yeah?" he says, turning halfway back around.

"Thanks for inviting me," I say seriously. "If you hadn't asked, I wouldn't have went at all. I had fun."

He smiles in a softer way than usual, if I can believe my eyes in the moonlight. "I had a pretty good time, too."

"Oh, I didn't mean with you," I say high-handedly. "Percy, on the other hand, sure knows how to carry a conversation!"

"Of everyone we know," he says with a good-natured groan, "you can choose anyone but Percy."

"But the connections!" I continue mockingly. "He's personal assistant to the King, you know."

"Good night, little dragon," George laughs as he takes his leave, and I climb up into the carriage, kicking off my sodden boots in the doorway.

Strangely, though, I'm not as cold as I thought I was.


	18. New Year

New Year

Classes have started back for about a week when I get a chance to talk to Fred and George alone. Something from the night of the ball has been bugging me.

"What's going on?" I ask, quietly. "I mean with Bagman. I saw you two try talking to him at the ball."

We're in a corner in the Gryffindor common room, and although the only others around are sitting on the far side of the room by the fire, I don't want to be overheard.

"Nothing in particular," Fred answers after a moment, too casually.

"Whatever it is, it's making him nervous." I think back to the sweat dripping off of Bagman after the encounter.

"You know," George says, just as casually as Fred. "Most people _do_ find our dazzling good looks unnerving. Especially when faced with both of us at once like that."

"You're just immune to it because you're a ferocious little dragon yourself," Fred joins in.

"Stop calling me that," I tell them. "And don't think I won't figure out what's up with Bagman, either."

"Vicious, isn't she?" Fred asks George, who agrees. "And always stirring up trouble where there is none."

"She's a handful, sure," George adds, to my exasperation.

I give up trying to get them to spill the secret after that, and for a while all is forgotten as the workload seems to increase exponentially by the end of the month. My friends all seem to feel the strain, too, but none of them have any OWLs to prepare for, nor do they have extra homework assigned to them on stupid things, like how to address a royal associate of the French crown in the sixteenth century. I mean, France isn't even a monarchy anymore.

Then one day when Fred and George and I head out to Hagrid's for our Care of Magical Creatures class, we are shocked to find a short woman with shorter grey hair commandeering the class. Professor Grubbly-Plank, she introduces herself as, and promptly switches subjects to wood-nymphs.

Already knowing all about the creatures since loads of them live at Beauxbatons, I take the opportunity to ask the girl seated next to me, "what happened to Hagrid?"

She reluctantly tears herself away from the lesson long enough to reply. "You haven't heard?"

"No," I say, bewildered. "Haven't heard what?"

Wordlessly, she pulls out a newspaper clipping and hands it to me, returning her attention to Grubbly-Plank.

I read the article in disbelief. Rita Skeeter blasts criticism of Hagrid's apparent giant heritage throughout the article, complete with scathing quotes from Draco Malfoy. "Look at this," I say once I finish, passing the paper to Fred.

I don't know if I can believe the paper, but being half-giant would explain Hagrid's size. The article goes on to say, however, basically that Hagrid is a blood-thirsty threat to the students here. Although I've noticed Draco holds no great love for Hagrid, I've heard tales of Skeeter's talent for twisting words and can't be sure Draco really did say these things.

At dinner, I relay what I've learned to Harry, Ron and Hermione. None of them seem surprised.

"We know," Harry confirms. "We've already been down to see him, but he won't open the door."

"How would that woman know that for certain, anyway?" I ask. "Not that it matters if it's true or not, but I won't believe just anything written in a paper."

"Well, actually," Harry says hesitantly. "I overheard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about it the night of the Yule Ball. He thought, you know, what with her being so big, maybe she was one too."

After dinner, I try my luck at Hagrid's, not really expecting a different result than the other's got, and not getting one, either. So I return to the carriage and wait until Madame appears. I show her the paper.

"Do you know where that woman would have gotten that information?" I demand.

Madame peers at the article, and while the contents don't surprise her, she doesn't look guilty, either. "'Ow would I know 'ow zat woman gathers information?"

It confuses me that I believe her. If she didn't give Rita Skeeter the story, then who did?

The next Hogsmeade weekend follows soon after the newspaper incident. I'm preoccupied with a Potions paper the Gryffindor common room, curled up into a window seat I've taken claimed as my own, as the others slowly file past on their way out. Two shadows stop in front of me, however, and I know who it is before I look up.

"Say," Fred interrupts my studies. "You haven't been out to Hogsmeade yet, have you?"

"No," I say, trying to focus on the steps to a complicated antidote we're being tested on soon.

"You can't spend the school year here and not tour the local hotspots," George insists, reaching down to flip my book closed.

I know I should stay and work, but I really do want to see Hogsmeade. "Alright, alright," I say, pretending to be put out.

"We'll buy you a butterbeer if you can make it to town without shivering," Fred says cheerfully.

It's a particularly cold day out. Unfortunately for him, the cold here is no match for a frosty winter's day in the Rockies, and I easily make it there without getting chilled. I'm glad I decided to come, especially once we make it to town.

Fred and George insist on showing me every shop in the village, touring Zonko's Joke Shop the most extensively, where of course they provide running commentary on the effectiveness of Zonko's wares and how they would suggest improving them. I humour them and make at least as many silly suggestions as they do.

After, we make our way to the Three Broomsticks Inn for the butterbeer they promised me. Once inside however, I immediately spot Ron and Hermione sitting at a table sans Harry. I wonder briefly if they've come to their senses and are here on a date, but I follow their gaze and see Harry talking quietly to Bagman in a darker corner of the room.

Fred and George pick up on this at the same time, and we all three make our way over.

"Care for a butterbeer?" Fred asks Bagman cheerfully.

"No…no thank you," he answers quickly, making his excuses to leave. Fred and George, having forgotten about me during this exchange, follow him out the door without a backwards glance.

"I'd give my right hand to know what that's about," I mutter. Then, remembering what started the whole exchange, I turn back to Harry. "What were you talking to Bagman about?"

"Oh," says Harry, "he wanted to help with the second task. I already got help from Cedric, though, and even if I didn't, it would be wrong to take him up, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," I reply carefully, "but that wouldn't stop everyone. Was Cedric's advice useful?"

"Don't know," Harry says strangely, as we make our way back to the table. "Haven't taken it yet."

"Well, you should," I say, "the second task is coming up fast. There's no reason not to take his advice. It's not like you'd owe him anything – you told him about the dragons, right?"

"It's complicated," he says vaguely. I personally don't see what's so complicated, but I'm no Champion either, so I drop the subject.

"Hey," I say in annoyance once we're seated with Ron and Hermione. "Fred owed me a butterbeer." Neither brother came back to the Inn, and honestly I'm irritated to be so easily forgotten.

I buy my own butterbeer as my thoughts turn back to Hagrid's dilemma. "That Skeeter woman is incorrigible," I mutter angrily to the others.

"Actually, she was here a little while ago," Hermione admits.

"Yeah, you should've heard Hermione tell her off," Ron beams proudly. "It was bloody brilliant!"

"I'm sure it was," I say, a bad feeling digging in. "But don't piss her off unless you want to be the next one in her stupid papers."

We talk about Hagrid for a little while longer, and after sitting around after about the third round of drinks, we all know what we need to do.

That's how we find ourselves at Hagrid's door as soon as we get back to the school.

"Hagrid!" I shout loudly, making it clear we're not leaving as easily as before. "You had better open up this door-"

The door swings open wide to reveal none other than Dumbledore himself in the entryway. He takes in the others with a smile, and though he's still smiling when his gaze land on me, there's something different about the look in his eyes.

"Come in," he says warmly. We step just inside and come face to face with a blubbering Hagrid as he blows his nose into a tissue half the size of a tablecloth.

"Hagrid," Harry begins. "You need to come back to class. We don't care about any of that other stuff. We don't even care if it's true or not. You're a great teacher and we miss you."

"See?" Dumbledore says, with a twinkle in his eye. "Your absence has even inspired well-heeled Beauxbatons students to come shouting at the door at curfew." A glance out the kitchen window confirms that the sun has sunk out of sight.

"Please come back, Hagrid," I try. "Class just isn't the same without you."

Dumbledore and I spot Madame on her way down to the carriage at the same time. "Thank you for coming here tonight," he says simply, "but for now you should go with your Headmistress. It's not wise to wander alone through the Forest after dark."

I nod, wave goodbye to the others, and give Hagrid an awkward sort of pat on his great shoulder before hurrying off after Madame. She says nothing about my being a little late, instead walking quietly up to the carriage and sending us all off to bed.

Tuesday afternoon, I'm overjoyed to see Hagrid back at class.


	19. Second Task

**PLEASE READ IF YOU'RE JUST SKIPPING TO THE MOST RECENT CHAPTER - I messed up submitting the chapters from my computer! I just went back and added four chapters between 'Class' and 'Christmas at the Castle' that I somehow missed uploading before (one of which I didn't even have bookmarked as a chapter in my own document). I have no idea how I missed so much! You might want to go back and read them - sorry for the confusion & thanks for reading!**

Second Task

The date of the second task, February 24, draws up faster than I expect it to, mostly because I'm swamped with homework and study guides for my OWLs, and of course, my sixteenth century French etiquette assignments which went from bizarre to just painfully useless.

"You'll never guess who I saw on the map," Harry says as we sit down together for dinner, less than a week before the second task. "Mr. Crouch, snooping around in Snape's office."

"What map?" I ask, intrigued.

"The Marauder's Map," Harry explains. "Everyone in the castle shows up on it, really useful for avoiding professors after curfew." I make a note to myself to get my own sort of map like that.

"I thought no one's seen him in weeks," Ron says, confused. "What would he be doing here now?"

None of us have any idea what Mr. Crouch's reappearance in Snape's office in the middle of the night could mean, and eventually Hermione changes the subject.

"Any idea what the second task might be about?" she asks Harry.

"I figured it out," he tells us. The others look relieved but I throw my hands over my ears.

"Don't say it near me if you don't want me telling Fleur," I hurriedly blurt out. Even if we're not speaking, I know I can't hold this sort of information from her.

"It's okay," Harry says. "She's probably already figured it out, anyway."

"So what is it?" Ron asks impatiently.

"Mermaids." And Harry repeats the little riddle from the egg.

"Any idea how to breathe underwater?" I ask, when he's done with the verse.

"Not yet," he says grimly.

"I'll see what I can come up with," I offer. More than likely, it'll be Hermione to figure it out, but Harry thanks me for my offer just the same.

That very night, I find Fleur alone in the library after dinner.

"I know we're not talking right now," I say quickly, sneaking up on her before she can get away from me. "But just listen for a minute. The second task is about mermaids."

"I know," she says slowly. "I figured it out ages ago. I'm not telling you what I'm doing, though."

"That's okay," I say, relieved. If she did tell me, I'm sure she'd want to keep it from Harry, and I don't want that secret on my conscience. "Just wanted to make sure you knew."

"Thanks," she says, looking at me strangely for a moment. Then she turns back to her book, of course, and the conversation - our longest since November – is over.

The morning of the second task we wake to find the stands have been suddenly moved to sit facing the lake, and we bundle up after breakfast to sit on the frozen seats. Percy, Ron's and the twins' brother who I met at the Yule Ball, is standing in today, too, for Mr. Crouch. It's strange that he can find the time to creep around the castle at night, yet has quit showing up to the Tournament events.

I glance around for Harry – he wasn't at breakfast, and I still haven't seen him. Neither, for that matter, have I seen Ron and Hermione today. The second task is starting in fifteen minutes…then ten…now five…

And then he's sprinting down the snow-packed path to the edge of the lake to join the other contestants. The announcer explains the task, and I'm betting Ron and Hermione are two of the people at the bottom of the lake. As for Fleur's most prized person, I know for a fact that her younger sister, Gabrielle, must be hers to save, since Jess is sitting a few spots down the bench from me.

Then the horn sounds the start, and the Champions all start into the chilly waters. Harry wades in slower than the rest, chewing on something green and slimy looking. I almost can't watch without wanting to gag.

Then he doubles over as if he can't breathe, and suddenly dives into the water, disappearing quickly from view. For the first few minutes, no one makes a sound, then slowly the chatter builds, everyone wondering what's going on beneath the lake's dark surface.

After half an hour or so, Fleur breaks to the surface, spluttering, alone. Madame Pomfrey's assistant helps Fleur out of the water. I hold my breath until I can't any more, waiting for Gabrielle to join her.

I glance back at Fleur, who is still catching her breath, but I see in the wild whites of her eyes that she was unsuccessful. She moves to re-enter the water, but the rules don't allow her to, and Madame Maxime shakes her head no. Fleur panics at the edge of the water, trying to break free of Madame and reach her sister.

I'm leaping out of the stands before anyone can stop me, coming to a halt with my shoes in the lake, sopping up the freezing water. I don't care. I'm not even sure Fleur realizes I'm standing beside her, stroking her wet hair and talking reassuringly to her for a moment, but soon enough she calms a little, staring out at the still waters.

Everyone's eyes are glued on the water, waiting.

It's right about the hour mark, and Fleur is wild with worry when Cedric resurfaces, Cho Chang in tow. As soon as she's above the water, Cho comes to in Cedric's arms, coughing up a bit of lake water. The pair are quickly ushered past our little huddle and out of the water, wrapped up in warm blankets as we all wait with bated breaths.

Moments later, Krum reaches the surface, Hermione rousing as the chill February air hits her skin. They, too, are shepherded into the warmth of the medic tent.

Then for an agonizing infinity of time, we all wait, wondering what's keeping Harry. I'm dizzy from lack of oxygen myself when finally he appears, hauling both Ron and Gabrielle from the lake's waters.

The medics help the three out of the water and I worry Fleur is going to faint with relief as Gabrielle stumbles sleepily to her sister. Madame and I step back as they embrace, Fleur openly crying, for once not caring about putting on a show.

"She needs to go warm up," Madame Pomfrey says, gently breaking apart the reunion. "There will be time for that later."

Fleur nods and walks over to Harry and Ron, expressing how grateful she is to the both of them with dramatic kisses on their cheeks. I suppress a smile and take Gabrielle's hand, leading her to the medic tent.

I don't go back out to listen to the scores given, choosing instead to stay in the tent with Gabrielle, who, once her teeth stop chattering, eagerly fills me in on the goings-on back at Beauxbatons. She's more than halfway done her first year, I realize suddenly. It's strange to think of her as growing up so fast.

A while later, Fleur comes to see her sister. Placing a kiss on Gabrielle's cheek, she motions for me to follow her a few steps away.

"I am sorry," she says, looking almost like she's about to start crying again. "I was wrong about your 'Ogwarts friends, and I treated you badly. 'Ow could you ever forgive me?"

"Oh, Fleur," I say, almost overcome myself. "I already have. I'm sorry, too. I never thought, what with how busy you were with the Tournament, that you'd even miss me in the first place. I treated you badly, too, and I'm sorry."

She hugs me again and bursts into tears. I laugh at that and hug her back, not used to Fleur crying. When she's a little more composed, we go sit with Gabrielle and listen to her tales of her first year.

Jess eventually enters the tent, too, and one look at all of our happy faces is all it takes for her to know that everything's fixed again. She, too, joins us and we chatter away with Gabrielle, just like we've done every summer since my first year.

In those moments, I almost feel like nothing can ever go wrong again.


	20. Making Enemies

Making Enemies

Trouble, of course, never takes long to flare up again, and it rears its bothersome head not long after the second task at the start of Potions class one Friday afternoon.

Several of the Slytherin girls are sniggering and staring pointedly at Hermione when Draco and I wander in to class. When I notice the newspaper, my stomach knots, and I hurriedly snatch it out of one girl's hands, ignoring her protests. I scan it quickly on my way over to Hermione's table, where the three of them are settled.

"Let's see," she says bravely, and I hesitate before I hand it over.

Ron speaks first. "I told you not to annoy her! Now she's made you out to be some sort of scarlet woman!"

Rather than be upset by it, Hermione laughs loudly at the paper, written by none other than Rita Skeeter, which insinuates not only that she's involved romantically with Harry, but that she's snagging the hearts of Tournament Champions with the help of sophisticated love potions.

"Scarlet woman?" I ask, laughing along.

Ron blushes. "That's what Mum calls them."

"This whole thing is just ridiculous," Hermione says, tears in her eyes. "It's like she's not even trying! Is this outrageous paper supposed to upset me?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape says sharply, breezing into the room. "Class has started."

"You weren't even here anyway," I blurt out. Oops.

"Ten points from…" he starts, then stops.

"From where, Beauxbatons?" I say like a smart-alec. Oops again.

"From Gryffindor," he says smoothly. "Since you seem to be so chummy with them. Back to your seat, Mavros. Potter, you can join her up at the front, where I can see you. Weasley, find a seat away from the others."

"What are you doing?" Draco hisses to me as I take my seat. Harry's squeeze himself onto the end of the table across from me, right under Snape's watchful eye.

"What do you mean?" I ask, flipping my book open to where we left off on Monday.

"Why are you spending so much time with Potter, and that _Mudblood_?" Harry starts at that word, and I tense. It may not be used back home in the mountains, but I've heard it plenty since my first year.

"And those _Weasleys_ he continues, making their name sound just as bad. "Maybe they're hoping some of your fortune will rub off on them."

"You shut your mouth," I whisper furiously, forgetting about making friends with everyone. Then I really hear what he said.

"How do you know anything about whether I'm rich or poor?" I ask, suddenly uneasy.

"Because," he says smugly, knowing he's unnerved me. "My father says he knows who you are, and trust me when I say people like you shouldn't be taking up with riff-raff like _them_."

"I think I'll decide who I take up with," I say in a dangerous tone. "And I'm not thinking it will be people like you."

Draco shrugs then nods his head at Goyle, who promptly spills his inkwell over my textbook. I grab a new one from the cupboard and spend the rest of the class guarding the pages rather than paying attention to the lesson.

Draco, however, isn't one to let things go, I find out at the end of class. As everyone else is filing out for the weekend, he casually knocks over Harry's vial of armadillo bile, splashing it all over the floor. Draco sniggers, and I shoot him a nasty look and crawl under the table to help Harry wipe it up.

"Sorry," I tell him, scrubbing at the thick, sticky fluid.

"Don't worry about it," he says quietly, smirking. "I loved that look on Malfoy's face when you told him off–"

Harry breaks off as another figure enters the room. Karkaroff, I recognize him as he strides up to Snape's desk. His expression is almost scared, a look I've never seen on the fearsome Durmstrang Headmaster.

"We need to talk," he says abruptly to Snape.

"Whatever for?" Snape says testily. Harry and I hold our breaths, rags sitting still on the floor.

"Haven't you seen it?" Karkaroff says impatiently. He pulls up the sleeve of his robe. "Look how clear it is! Ever since–"

"Put that away," Snape hisses. "Potter! Mavros! What are you two doing?"

"We rise, nervously on my part, to our feet. "Cleaning up this armadillo bile," Harry says. He holds up his rag to show Snape, and I mirror the action.

Karkaroff's eyes lock on me, as if he's only now, more than halfway through the year, seeing me for the first time.

"Well get out of here," he says cold fire in his eyes.

Harry turns to leave, and I break from my staring contest with Karkaroff to hurry after him.

"So who was right about Malfoy?" Ron asks smugly when we meet up after class.

"Yeah, yeah," I say moodily. It hasn't been one of my better days. "You can stick it where the sun don't shine."

They all laugh and pat my back, as if sensing how let down I feel, how stupid. Their support is probably the best thing I could ask for, though. I still have all my close friends here, and that's all that matters.


	21. Letters and Trust

Letters and Trust

The next day is another Hogsmeade day, but Harry, Ron and Hermione scurry off before I can join them, talking about something they promised they'd do. Fred and George are nowhere to be found, and Fleur and Jess are too focussed on their books to join me.

I don't feel like going alone, though, so I mope around the castle for an hour or so before finding myself in the library, thinking over what we saw yesterday, the strange exchange between Snape and Karkaroff…and then I remember Malfoy's weird comment at the start of the class.

_My father says he knows who you are_, Malfoy had said, _and people like you shouldn't take up with riff-raff like_ them.

I don't know what it means, but the fact that Malfoy claims to know so much about who I am is unnerving. I wish I could ask my mother, but any mention of my father, or any mention of anything from before she was admitted always brings on a crazy spell. I don't want to see my mother covered in long, bloody scratches and shouting nonsense at the orderlies who come to try calm her down. Plus I wouldn't get any information out of her, anyway. I know immediately I can't ask her about it.

Yet thinking about her makes me realize I haven't sent her a letter since just before Christmas. So I borrow a quill from the librarian and pull out a sheet of parchment and begin one.

_Dear Mom__,_I scrawl quickly.

_Happy New Year! Things here are interesting as ever, and I'm finding it hard to keep up with my classes, especially my fifth year ones. Professors around here seem to think that the best way to prepare for OWLs is to pile on so much homework it's as if I'm drowning in it. My extra lessons are the toughest to complete, though, as I just can't bring myself to _want_to learn them. I get to spend all day tomorrow embroiled in the proper curtsies one is to give when presented to different levels of the aristocracy. Even barring the fact that I doubt I'll ever meet _any_aristocrat, these protocols are based off of the traditional etiquette one would see in oh, about the eleventh century. Unless I figure out how to go back in time and seek out some Duke or whatever, this is all useless._

_Anyway, I'd better send this off and get back to my homework. Hope all is well with you._

_Love always,_

_ARA_

I sign with my initials, first and middle, like Mom has specified to, and reread my letter to be sure I haven't given out anything more than general information. Mom has always been unreasonably paranoid about me writing down important details, I guess in case a serial killer ever hijacks the delivery owls and gets enough information together to track me down.

I don't understand it, but I follow the rules anyway, afraid of sending Mom off the deep end if I don't.

Later that week, I'm absentmindedly making my way to the library to take out a book of runes for my class, when Harry comes tearing up the corridor.

"Where are you going?" I call after him, but when he doesn't even try to answer, I take off running, too, sure that nothing good is happening.

We almost bowl Snape over just outside a big door in an area of the castle I've never been in. "I need to talk to Dumbledore," he says, panting. "Mr. Crouch is…the woods…and Krum…talking nonsense…"

"What are you on about, Potter?" Snape asks, seemingly unconcerned by Harry's desperation.

"Where's Dumbledore?" I ask, adding my voice to the cause.

"Here," a voice behind us says. I spin around and come face to face with Dumbledore. "What's the matter?"

"Mr. Crouch is in the woods," Harry repeats. "He's talking nonsense…something about a big mistake…he said Voldemort's getting stronger…kept giving instructions…talking like Percy Weasley was there."

"Let's go," Dumbledore says sharply, and then they're flying back the way we came. Not wanting to remain behind with Snape, I quickly follow suit, as Harry leads the way out past the Quidditch field, where oddly shaped rows of hedge look to be growing.

I left Krum with him," Harry tells Dumbledore.

What?" he asks tersely. "Where did you leave them?"

"He was right over here."

Dumbledore mutters, "_lumos_," and the forest lights up. A few steps in, we come across Krum, unconscious on the forest floor.

"_Rennervate_," Dumbledore mutters, and Krum instantly wakes up.

"Crazy old boot attacked me!" he says disbelievingly. "One second he was muttering gibberish, then suddenly his wand was out–"

But Mr. Crouch is nowhere to be seen now. Professor Moody joins the group.

"What's happened?" he asks gruffly.

Dumbledore explains, and Moody announces he'll go look to see if he can't find Mr. Crouch.

"Good," Dumbledore agrees. "As for you three, you all will head back to your respective dormitories. Any owls you want to send will wait until tomorrow, understood?"

He looks at Harry at the last bit, and I for one don't know who I'd want to write to immediately. Partway up the lawn, we split up and go our separate ways for the evening.

The next morning, however, I'm up early and out to the Gryffindor common room to meet Harry, Ron and Hermione. Harry had filled the other two in last night, and we sat down together, trying to make sense of why Crouch would show up talking nonsense out of the blue.

"I'm thinking it's time we sent an owl," Harry says, and he steps away to scrawl out a message.

"Who's he writing to?" I ask the others. They glance at each other before turning apologetically back to me.

"It's not really our secret to tell," Hermione says.

"What's going on, Harry?" The others have all stood up to make their way to the owlery.

He hesitates for only a moment. "Come on, I'll tell you on the way. What I tell you has to stay secret if you want to know."

"Of course," I agree, and that's how they fill me in on the incredible story of last year, up to where Sirius, who is actually innocent, and Buckbeak the Hippogriff escaped certain death. He concludes the story as we reach the owlery, where we quickly send the owl off.

"We need to find out if Professor Moody found Mr. Crouch," Hermione says once the owl's out of sight.

"If we had the Marauder's Map, this would be much easier," Harry says a little wistfully.

"Shh," interrupts Ron. "Someone's coming."

"I'm telling you, that's blackmail!"

"That won't matter if we get our money, though, will it?"

The twins come bursting through the door at that moment, freezing as they spot the four of us.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asks. He carefully tucks the envelope in his hand behind his back, hiding it from view.

"I could ask you the same thing," Ron retorts.

"Fine, then, we will all just go our separate ways," George says easily, motioning for us to exit.

"Who are you blackmailing?" Ron asks, not budging.

"Nobody," Fred says, glancing at George. "We were only joking."

"You're going to get into serious trouble," Ron continues, looking back and forth between his brothers.

"Mind your own business," Fred snaps, quickly tying his letter to a bird and letting it loose. "Later."

He and George quickly exit.

"They're not serious, are they?" Hermione worries.

Ron hesitates before answering. "I don't know. They've been obsessed lately. They've only got one year left here, and I think they're worried about saving for after they're done. They want to open up a joke shop, but…well, Mum and Dad can't really afford to help them at all. They've got to make their own way. I don't know how far they'd go, really. They're not bad people, but if they're desperate…"

"They wouldn't use blackmail to reach their goals," I say, certain of it. "Not unless someone deserved it. I'll see you guys later." I don't wait for a reply before following Fred and George.

I catch up to them about halfway back to the common room.

"That's it," I say, covering the last few feet between us. "You're going to tell me what's going on."

"We've told you," Fred says, "it's nothing."

"And I've told you," I snap back, "I don't believe you." I look first at one, then the other, their golden brown eyes identical even in the way they meet mine stubbornly.

"I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about," I say in a calmer tone. "You can trust me."

They exchange a look before turning back to me.

"We made a bet this summer with Bagman, at the World Cup," Fred begins.

"All our savings," George continues, "on Ireland winning the game, but said Krum catch the snitch."

I was in Canada at the time, so I didn't see it happen, but I'd heard plenty since I'd been back in the wizarding world. More than once the topic had come up out on the Quidditch pitch this year. "I thought that's what happened, though."

"Yeah," Fred confirms. "And Bagman paid us out that night."

They pause, and I don't see what exactly the problem is here.

"In the morning, the money was gone," George says quietly.

"Leprechaun gold," Fred explains. "Only lasts a short while."

"At first we thought there'd been a mistake," George takes over. "So we've been writing to Bagman, trying to explain the mix up."

"But he hasn't been answering our letters, and he's avoiding us here at Hogwarts."

"And in Hogsmeade," I say, feeling my blood pressure rise. Everything starts clicking together then.

"Exactly," Fred nods. "And we're thinking now that he's cheated us."

"What are we going to do about it?" I ask, ready to spring into action.

"Nothing we can do," they say together. Fred says, "Being underage, we aren't even supposed to be betting to begin with. Not much we can report him on. We don't want to resort to blackmail, but…"

"But that's all your savings!" I exclaim, imagining how it would feel to lose all that work, all their earnings they'd put towards their joke shop dream.

"We've just had to start over," George shrugs.

"We need to tell _someone_," I insist, pacing the floor. "Your parents, or–"

"George and I aren't telling anyone," Fred says firmly. "Especially not Mum. And you just promised not to say a word."

"And I'm already regretting it," I say darkly.

My mood soured, I escape to the cool late winter air outside, walking briskly back to the carriage. I'm still worked up when I reach my destination, so I continue a little farther until I reach the horse corral. I put Gem through all his training practices again and put the reins on for the first time, teaching him to lead from on the ground for now.

At dinner time, I leave the horses, but return to the carriage instead of going up with the rest.

"Aren't you coming?" Fleur asks, pausing in the doorway.

"Not tonight," I say. "I've got tons of homework, and I haven't even started it yet. You guys go on ahead, I'm not really hungry."

The last part's true – I'm not hungry, mostly because I'm too angry for food. Instead, I tackle my homework as viciously as if it's Bagman I'm facing, and not my History of Magic essay.


	22. Studies

Studies

It's not long after the encounter in the owlery that Hermione announces to us that Harry needs to start learning new spells that could help in the maze. We start a list of assorted hexes and defensive charms and one by one we tackle them.

Some of the spells on the list, I already know, and those are learned by the others fairly quickly, since it's of course easier to learn when it's not a case of the blind leading the blind. Once we exhaust my knowledge, however, I gladly let Hermione take over the lessons. She's good teacher, and I find myself quickly catching on under her instruction.

Hermione and I sit together one evening while Harry and Ron are still trying to figure out a bedazzling hex.

"I just don't understand how she's doing it," she says again, folding up Skeeter's latest trash.

"Is it crazy to suggest she might be sneaking in anyway?" I say thoughtfully. "Even though she's been ordered not to?"

"She's banned," Hermione says, as if I'm about five years old. "If she were to be seen by the professors, imagine–"

Yeah, but I've been thinking," I tell her, "about something Percy was saying at Christmas, about Animagus regulations…what if she's one, and she's just transforming so she can sneak around unnoticed?"

"All Animagi are registered," she says. "And I've checked the records, but she's not listed."

"Yeah," but I say, remembering how Sirius is getting around secretly. "But not all Animagi are registered, are they?"

"It's not impossible..." she muses. "I'll look into it."

"The professors must be loads harder on you at Beauxbatons," Ron mutters suddenly, frustrated with his lack of progress.

"There are some awful ones," I agree uncomfortably.

In truth, I've always found some areas of magic very easy to learn. While subjects like Divination that require inner reflection rather than bursts of magic are absolute horrors for me to sit through, namely the kinds of work that requires little preparatory effort, the on-your-feet brand of magic has always come shockingly fast to me.

It's a definite bonus now, though, as I find I'm able to learn along with the other three and give pointers when I have them, while still keeping up with my schoolwork. That is, until we start on defensive spells. I have a harder time with the intense concentration and inner discipline required of defensive work, and Ron is redeemed when he figures out a couple charms faster than I do.

One evening, I meet Lee heading out to the Quidditch pitch as I make my way to the castle.

"You've been cooped up for weeks!" he says when I stop to chat. "Why don't you give it a rest for tonight and come play a game?"

"You know," I say, very tempted. "That would be great. I'll just head up quick to see if Harry and Ron want to play." Excitedly, I bound up the stairs to the seventh floor and cheerfully recite the password.

Everyone's much more solemn than I am when I come skipping in, and I immediately sober up.

"What's happened?" I ask, looking from face to worried face.

"Harry had a vision in class today," Ron says, "about Voldemort. He spent ages rolling around on the floor clutching his scar."

"You did?" I turn to Harry. "You should go talk to Dumbledore. He seems like he'd know what's going on."

"He did," Hermione assures me. "But while he was waiting there, he found Dumbledore's pensieve."

I don't need her to explain that to me. "Did you look into it?" I realize immediately how stupid my question is. I don't know why they'd bring it up if he hadn't.

"Yeah," Harry says. He notes my disapproving look at adds quickly, "It was an accident. I didn't know what it was. I saw the trials – you know, the ones they held for suspected Death Eaters and dark side sympathizers. Karkaroff and Snape were both accused, but Snape apparently went over to the good side before Voldemort was defeated, so he wasn't sentenced."

"Went over to the good side, my ass," Ron mutters darkly.

Harry continues. "I saw Mr. Crouch's son's trial. And I saw Bagman, too."

"Ludo Bagman?" I can't picture it of the cheerful, ditzy fellow, until I remember how he cheated Fred and George last summer.

"Yes. He was charged with handing over information to a Death Eater within the Ministry, but he said he thought he was helping the good guys…and they let him go."

"Tell her what Dumbledore said," Hermione interjects.

"You mean the bit about Snape being forgiven?" Ron asks with attitude, not giving that up.

"No, I mean about your scar."

"Oh, yeah," Harry says. "Dumbledore thinks the vision was real, and that my scar – the curse that caused it, really – created a bond between me and Voldemort."

Ron shivers at that. I don't blame him, the thought creeps me out too. We all fall quiet for a moment, deep in thought.

"All the more reason to keep up your studies," Hermione says finally. "Ari, would you mind showing Harry the Sonorous Charm again?"

So we double down on our list, Quidditch completely forgotten. Even if half of these spells aren't used in the maze, I can't help but think that maybe he will need them further on.


	23. Discussion

Discussion

June the twenty-fourth arrives far faster than I was expecting it to. Falling just before the start of my OWLs, I doubt I've gotten any more sleep in lately than the Tournament Champions themselves.

The task isn't until evening, so I spend the morning shut up in the carriage trying my best to focus on my review questions for my History of Magic class. It's the one I'm most dreading, since the droning, monotonous lectures the class consists of threaten to put me in a trance every Wednesday afternoon throughout the year. I don't even bother wasting my time studying for my charms class – I'm very confident in my abilities after all the work we've been putting in outside of class.

Just before the other Beauxbatons students plan to make their way to the castle for lunch, I slam my book shut and wander out into the warm summer's day. Wandering lazily out of the Forest's edge, I bask in the sunshine. After being cooped up for hours inside, I appreciate the brief period of sunshine on my way.

I almost don't notice Bagman himself standing at the perimeter, chatting easily with Madame and Hagrid. It feels suddenly as if the sun has been trapped inside my stomach, all the boiling heat churning dangerously.

Instead, inspired, I smile easily at the trio. "Mr. Bagman," I say as charmingly as I know how to. "Could I have a word with you? I'm writing a finals paper on great Quidditch players through the ages, and a few words from you would just complete the whole paper."

Luckily, Bagman is easily flattered, or maybe I'm better at my Beauxbatons lessons than I'd dreamed. Either way, he obligingly nods and follows me a little ways off, near the path that leads down to Hogsmeade. I stop suddenly at the mouth of the trail and scan the area. No one else is around.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask, not waiting even for him to turn and see me before I speak. I've seen how easily he slips away, and maybe if I shock him, I'll get more than two words in. "Do you get off on cheating students out of every last knut of their savings? Does it make you feel like you've won? Like you're a big, important man, Bagman?"

"I don't know what you mean," he says, easy smile plastered somewhat stiffly on his face.

I poke a finger into his barrel of a chest menacingly, and he backs up, right against a tree. "Listen, if you know what's good for you, Bagman–"

"I must ask, Mavros," a deep, lilting voice interrupts. I spring back a polite distance from Bagman in surprise. "What is going on here?"

"Oh," I say, turning to face Professor Snape. "I've just really been wanting to get an autograph, Professor, and today being the third task, I suddenly realized that I was running out of time."

Snape looks questioningly at Bagman, waiting eagerly for him to contradict me. Instead, he nervously nods to confirm my story. "Yes, yes," he says, pulling out a scrap of parchment and a quill. "I was just telling this young lady it would be a pleasure, always so flattering, you know…never really ends, does it? Anyway, here you are, dear. I'll walk back with you, Severus, if you're heading my way…nice to meet you…right…I'll be off, then…"

That's when I catch the eye of Fred, who was standing a little ways off with George. His gaze had swept past Bagman when he passed the twins, and I, still standing alone in a conspicuous spot, have been caught. They waste no time reaching me, along the edge of the path's mouth.

"What were you doing?" Fred asks in a quiet tone.

"Oh," I say casually. "We were just in the middle of a friendly conversation, Bagman and I, when Snape showed up. Don't know that it was much use, as we were interrupted just as it was getting interesting."

George opens his mouth, at the same time we hear a woman calling from down the Hogsmeade trail.

"Hello boys," the woman is saying. When she draws near, I suspect I know exactly who she is, and the man accompanying her. "What are you up to all the way out here? It's time for lunch. Hello, dear," she adds warmly, noticing me for the first time as she chatters.

"Hello," we all three reply.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asks the couple.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," I say, sure enough in my guesswork to say it aloud.

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley says, amused. "I don't think we've ever met before, have we? Your father and I came up to watch the third task…all the Champions' families are invited to come, you know, and poor Harry…I'm glad your father managed to get the day off. It wouldn't be right for Harry to be alone today."

Her thoughts of Harry distracted her momentarily, but she quickly turns her attentions back to me.

"Mum, Dad, this is our friend Ari. She's here for the year with the Beauxbatons crowd," George introduces us.

"Very nice to meet you, dear," she says warmly, though her eyebrows raise noticeably at the mention of my school. "Though, to be honest, you look a little young to have been a candidate for such a Tournament."

"Oh, I wasn't here to try out," I assure her, "I'm the same age as Ron. I was brought along because of…special circumstances, I guess." I don't really want to explain what those circumstances are.

"We thought you were a fifth year," Fred pipes up indignantly. "What about all your OWLs you've been taking?"

"I'm just ahead in most of my classes," I say sheepishly. Defensively, I add, "you've never actually asked me how old I am."

"So you're, what," Fred asks, "fourteen? Just a baby!"

"Little baby dragon," George needlessly chimes in. Not smart on his part, really, since I'm standing close enough to reach up and smack his shoulder. The boys, still laughing, lead the way up to the castle.

"I've been fifteen since April," I say in my defense.

Mrs. Weasley begins to fill the boys in on what's been happening at home during the schoolyear, and I listen along, recognizing Charlie's name when she tells the boys he'd wanted to be here but had been too busy in Romania to get away, but that he sends his love instead. I wonder what he's so busy with, and question whether it would be weird to send him an owl asking about it.

"So what do you do for a living?" I ask Mr. Weasley when Mrs. Weasley pauses for a moment. The woman can talk, that's for sure.

"I work for the Ministry of Magic," he says, cheerfully piping up when asked a question. "I'm the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Delightfully creative, those muggles – do you know much about their eleckity system? Fascinating, you should come by this summer – I have a presentation on it, you know."

"Actually," I say, carefully so I don't affront him, "it's called 'electricity.'"

I didn't have to worry, because Mr. Weasley's eyes light up. "Now you've done it," George groans.

"You know about it, then?"

"I didn't even know magic was real until I was ten," I tell him easily. I was ten that summer, when the grizzly old 'tour guide' stayed the summer in one of our cabins and explained to me what I'd been born into.

"Ah, so Muggle parents," he assumes. He doesn't say it in the judgmental way I've heard others say it. "What do they do, then?"

"They were both wizards, actually," I say, because this much I know. "My father was murdered by Death Eaters before I was born, and so Mom hid in the Muggle world with me. She thought that's where I would be safest, after what happened to my father."

"Sorry to hear that," he says sincerely. "We lost a lot of good wizards – witches, too – back then."

They invite me to sit with them when we reach the dining hall, but I politely decline and take a seat with Fleur, who's looking a little nervous.

"Not long now and it'll be over," I reassure her. We will all rest easier once it is.


	24. Final Task

Final Task

Fleur and I stick together even once her mother and father show up with Gabrielle in tow, and we don't part until it's time to go down to the maze for the third task.

As we take our seats in the stands, Gabrielle chatters my ear off as we wait, and I'm so nervous at this point I hardly hear her. Mostly I just nod and murmur encouragement and she's happy to continue on.

Then they're leading Harry and Cedric Diggory to the solitary entrance in the maze's hedge, easily now the tallest hedge I've ever seen in my life. A trumpeting buzzer sounds, and the two dash off into the darkness. From the stands we can't see much, but already I feel the dread sitting in knots in the pit of my stomach.

After a slight delay, the buzzer sounds again, and Krum is off into the darkness, too. Then it's only Fleur remaining on this side of the hedges. Soon she, too, is given permission to enter, and all we can do is wait with measured breaths.

The sky darkens quickly after that, but since we can't see over the hedge, anyway, I guess it doesn't matter. Still, the settling darkness of night, usually enough to calm me, only twists my insides further. Then Fleur screams from somewhere within the maze. The sound startles me, and I shout for her uselessly. I stand and remain on my feet, trying to see what's going on, until one of the professors comes into view escorting a shaken but uninjured Fleur.

Some of the other Beauxbatons students stand upon seeing our Champion and exit the stands, but most stay, unlike the first task, to see how it all will play out.

I sit back down once I can see for myself that she's alright, but remain on the edge of my seat, watching the thick, unmoving shrubbery wall. Not much longer after Fleur came back, a stream of red sparks shoots up above the hedge from somewhere inside the maze. We all recognize the sign telling us that one of the Champions has given up and needs to be rescued.

I find myself hoping that it's Harry, more concerned with my unchecked anxieties than about the task and whether or not he wins. I'm disappointed to see it's Krum returning, unconscious. How did he manage to send up the sparks, then? Maybe he was still awake when he gave up, but I can't say for sure.

Either way, we're all back to waiting now, watching as the sky begins to cloud over.

"Are we going to be 'ere all night?" Terese mutters impatiently a while later, a few spots down from me.

I mean to tell her to shut it or go back to the carriage, but I'm suddenly feeling like I'm going to be sick. "Something's wrong," I whisper. No one hears me, but I can feel it in the way my heart constricts with an unexplainable terror. "Something's–"

That's when they reappear out of nowhere, the Hogwarts Champions, both clutching the Triwizard Cup just outside the maze. Harry's bent over funny, and I'm watching him so closely I don't notice anything else going on until I hear the crowd begin murmuring, the volume getting louder and louder as more people realize what's happened.

"Is he…?" "He's dead!" "Diggory's dead!" "This isn't happening!" "Cedric's been killed!"

Then Fleur's is covering Gabrielle's eyes, and I taste bile in the back of my mouth, stomach heaving as if something's trying to come up. I'm drowning in the noise, in the panic all around me. The crowd has risen to their feet around me; Fleur's dad helps me to mine.

I feel panic of my own rising up from the place where my worries have been stirring since it all began. Dizzy and nauseous, I close my eyes, my mind filled with nothing but a single thought playing on repeat. _Everyone needs to calm down, everyone calm down. Why are they not listening? Everyone! Calm! Down!"_

Then the feeling crawling out of my stomach is gone, like a weight being lifted. Opening my eyes, I realize the noise has calmed enough that I can think. People still look scared, still confused, but they're quieter now, not in an outright terror.

I look back down and see they've lifted Cedric away to the hospital wing, probably. Maybe he's just unconscious. Harry, however, I don't see right away. I scan the grounds in both directions from the stands, and spot him, being escorted away by Professor Moody.

I know Moody is probably the second-safest person for Harry to be with now, after Dumbledore himself, but…Dumbledore! He's being swarmed by officials and parents alike, busy trying to assure everyone that they need to keep their wits about them. I doubt, suddenly, that he'd let anyone, even a legendary retired auror, take off alone with a student at a time like this.

I scramble down easily past the people standing up in my row and push my way through the crowd gathering on the walkway. The further I move from my seat, the harder it is to make my way down. Frustrated, I begin pushing people aside, making agonisingly slow time towards Dumbledore. Finally, I'm on the ground and shoving through the fray clamouring around him.

"Dumbledore!" I shout desperately, still a ways away. "Moody's got Harry!"

And in a flash, Dumbledore is pushing his way through the crowd to me. They move out of his way, however, and he takes my arm, propelling us out of the crowd. "Where did they go?"

"Towards the castle," I say, and as soon as I've said it, Dumbledore sprints on ahead, a couple other teachers emerging from the crowd to join the chase. Not to be left behind, I follow suit, arriving outside Moody's office just in time to be shut out by the rest.

Irritated and sick with worry, I decide to wait in the one place they'll have to come to eventually.

And that's how they come to find me sitting at the door to Dumbledore's office, going over every possible scenario in my head, each more horrifying than the last. I scramble to my feet when I see Harry's alright.

"Thank God!" I say, on the verge of tears. I fight it, though, and instead throw my arms around my friend. "You're okay!"

"Well, since you're here," Dumbledore says when we break apart, "you might as well come in and have the story."

They fill me in quickly on the discovery that the Moody we've known all year is actually Mr. Crouch's son, faithful servant to the Dark Lord, who murdered his father that night we found him in the woods.

Then Dumbledore gently prods Harry about what happened in the maze. "I know it's painful," he says, sympathetically yet firm in his tone, "but trust me when I say it's better to face these things right off, rather than hide from them."

Reluctantly, Harry flatly recalls the chain of events, from meeting up with Krum and then touching the Portkey together and ending up in the cemetery. The ritual he describes, of bone, flesh and blood, is so chilling that I almost feel again like being sick.

When Harry gets to how Voldemort's want began spitting ghosts, Dumbledore explains how related wands can't fight each other, and the ghosts were whispers of the spells being reversed back out of the wand.

"Wands that share the exact same core are unable to fight against each other," Dumbledore explains. "trying to do so resulted in Voldemort's wand spitting out the most recent spells performed, starting with the most recent."

"Like ghosts, then?" I ask.

"Not exactly. More like a whisper of the spell, a remnant. Miss Mavros, you're shaking."

I look down at my hands, trembling like leaves in a windstorm. "Guess I'm just tired," I say.

"After all that, I don't blame you," he says rather gently. "Minerva, if you would be so kind as to help Miss Mavros down to the dining hall? She should have something to eat, and then get some rest."

Professor McGonagall consents and kindly places a steadying arm around me, which I welcome wearily.


	25. Introductions

Introductions

I wake up too early for breakfast the next morning, and slip back up to the castle, destination clear. About halfway there, an important-looking, well-dressed man brushes past me, looking sorely vexed. He doesn't stop to apologize, so I continue on a little peeved myself.

"Is Harry here?" I ask Madame Pomfrey, just outside of the hospital wing. Judging by the deep circles under her eyes, she's heading for a rest now.

"Yes, he is," she says wearily. "I'd tell you to come back in a couple of hours, but…well, everyone's there already, so go on ahead."

"Thank you," I say, and she nods. Opening up the big door, I can definitely see what she means. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore – even Snape, for some reason is present. A raggedy great black dog is sitting quietly by Harry's bed. Odd. I've never seen any dogs around the castle, and especially not one so rough-looking.

"How are you today, Harry," I say first.

"Alright," he replies, not looking it. "We've just had Fudge in."

"What, and you didn't leave me any?" I say, looking around for leftovers.

"Cornelius Fudge, that is," Dumbledore corrects, looking amused. "We tried to warn him that Voldemort is back, but he's refusing to see reason."

But if the Minister won't do anything," I start, troubled.

"Then we will just have to do it ourselves," Dumbledore completes. "Though it's a disappointment, sure. If we're to join up against Voldemort," he continues, speaking to the room, "then we're going to have to agree to work together."

He looks pointedly at the dog, who morphs into a tall, gaunt man with matted hair and threadbare robes. Snape hisses at the man, obviously angered by his presence.

I for one, since my falling-out with Malfoy resulted in Snape's disdainful judgment, have taken on the view that anyone Snape hates has a good first impression with me. I step over to the man, who is watching Snape with the same sort of look he's getting in return.

"I'm Ari," I say, "nice to meet you."

He shifts his gaze from Snape to me, and the look turns to a sort of bewildered horror for half a second, and then he gives himself a shake and it's gone. A friendly smile takes its place and the man grasps my offered hand in a friendly shake.

"I'm Sirius," he says, and while I don't gasp, I feel my eyebrows raise in recognition. He grins at that, sensing I'm only surprised and not about to start accusing him of being a murderer. Good thing Harry filled me in on all that, since otherwise, I might've. "It's nice to meet you, Ari. I've heard lots of good things about you."

"You, too," I say truthfully. "How long did it take you to learn how to do that – become an Animagus, that is?"

Sirius looks like he's going to tell me, but Dumbledore interrupts. "Another time, Miss Mavros. Sirius, Severus, if you're going to be working together, I expect you to get along."

The two stare stonily at each other at that.

"Why don't we start with a handshake, for now?" Dumbledore compromises with a sigh. Reluctantly, the two engage in the least friendly handshake I've ever seen, and drop the other's hand as soon as possible."

"It'll do for now," he says, obviously unsatisfied. "You'd better get back to the dining room, Miss Mavros. Breakfast is almost over, and you'll want a full belly this morning, I think."

I look at him quizzically, wondering what he means by that. Suddenly there's a strange banging sound across the room, and my attentions turns to Hermione, who is standing at the window alone. She gives me a quick, triumphant grin.

"Don't you have an OWL this morning?"

"Oh," I say, remembering I still have my History of Magic exam today, the first of my finals. "Right. Well, you rest, Harry. I'll come by tonight if you're still here. It was nice meeting you, Sirius."

"You, too, Ari," he says with a smile. "Take care."

"Oh, and Miss Mavros, I almost forgot," Dumbledore says as I reach the door. "I'd like a word with you this afternoon, if you wouldn't mind. I'll find you when I've got the time."


	26. Possbilties

Possibilities

I'm sure, by the time I escape the castle after lunch, that I've failed my History of Magic OWL horribly. Half of the questions didn't even seem to make sense, and halfway through faking my way through the essay portion, I gave up completely and left the end blank.

I pick a spot in the sun down by the lake, since no one else is gathered there.

The start of exams has me feeling sentimental. I can't ignore the knowledge so easily now, that it will be soon time to leave.

I am excited, of course, to go home, back to the quiet wilderness of the mountains at home. I'm excited to be free of classes, and homework, and getting up early. I'm especially glad the end of the year means saying goodbye to my extra etiquette lessons for a couple months.

But this year, the end also means saying goodbye to everyone I've come to love. Next year, I'll be back at Beauxbatons Academy, far from all my new friends and their adventures and humour. It'll also be my first year alone at the academy – Fleur and Jess are both sitting their NEWTs this year, and will be off to better and brighter things now. And for all my extra studying, I'm still too from behind them to join.

I breathe a heavy sigh to go with my heavy thoughts, and suddenly I hear someone speaking to me.

"It's a strange time of year," Dumbledore says, in a voice that matches my sigh. I look over and he's sitting beside me, staring into the still waters of the lake. I, too, watch the reflections mirrored in the water.

"So much to look forward to, when we're safe in the knowledge that we will be back again soon enough. But even if a person returns to the same place the next year, things are changed. It might be little differences, here and there, but everyone feels it, I think. That strange feeling that things aren't as they were, and there's no going back to it."

"It won't just be little changes this year," I say conversationally.

"I'm hoping not," he says, making me turn back to face him. "I'd like to talk to you about last night, Miss Mavros."

"Of course," I say, not knowing what exactly I would know that he doesn't already know more about.

"What you did there," he begins, then pauses. "Do you even know what you did?"

"If you mean when I warned you about Moody – uh, Crouch, I mean, taking off with Harry, I just figured that you wouldn't want Har–"

"Not that," he interrupts, waving it off. "I mean what you did in the crowd, before you came to me. Do you know what you did?"

"I didn't do anything, sir," I say, genuinely confused. "I was too overwhelmed with the noise and the confusion to do anything. I just closed my eyes and wished for it to stop."

"Exactly," he says, nodding. "Did you not notice that a large part of crowd closest to you was considerably quieter immediately after? You didn't realize it, but you used magic to calm the crowd last night. From the ground, the change was noticeable immediately."

"I've never done anything like that in my life," I protest.

Dumbledore shakes his head. "But you have, whether you noticed it at the time or not. Don't you remember how upset your friend, Miss Delacour, was when she was waiting for the others after she failed to retrieve her sister? Was it not at all strange to you that once you were down there, she wound down from her hysterics?"

"But I don't know any calming spells," I resist, shaking my head. "What kind of spell would do that in the first place?"

"There's a couple that might be close," Dumbledore replies. "One theory I have is that you used a sort of a cheering charm, though I've never heard of anyone being able to cast one over so many people all at once, and certainly not a student. Not to mention that nobody was really cheered as much as calmed."

"I don't even know that one to begin with," I say. "And I didn't have my wand out or anything."

"There are those who can cast powerful spells without the need for a wand. Such a skill takes great talent and determination, but those with natural talent and a will to master it find that they can wield magic almost as well without a wand as with one.

"My other theory," he continues, "is that you were actually able to create the spell you used, the knowledge born purely accidentally of your great need for a quieter environment, a spell to force your will on the people around you. Very few wizards, or witches, have ever shown any sort of aptitude for this kind of magic."

"I have enough difficulty creating potions in class," I say wryly. "I don't think creating whole new spells is something I'm capable of."

"Those are two entirely different sorts of magic," he replies quietly. "And no one is good at everything. In case I am right, I would advise you to pick a powerful mentor, one you can trust explicitly, and learn all you can about your gift. If you really don't possess the talent, a skilled wizard will be able to tell you quickly. If you do, such a skill is very dangerous left untrained."

"Not if I don't use it," I think out loud.

"Did you mean to use it last night?" he asks pointedly. "What happens if you're in a desperate situation, trapped by your enemies, and you find yourself willing them harm, and your friends are fighting nearby? Without training, you have no way of protecting those around you from unpredictable magical effects if you push your will on those nearby, even unintentionally? Even if you only work to control it enough to keep others from danger, Miss Mavros, that is all I ask."

He turns to look at me, catching my eye before he concludes the talk. "I think that a time may very well be coming when we find such a skill useful beyond imagination."

Dumbledore sets a hand on my shoulder as he stands, although I don't know if he means it reassuringly or just needs help getting back onto his feet. I sit there for a long time afterwards, staring unseeingly into the still waters in front of me.


	27. Leaving Feast

Leaving Feast

As I've already warned Fleur and Jess I will do, I take a seat for the last supper at the Gryffindor table with my friends.

Squished in between the twins, my usual place, looking across the table at Harry, Ron and Hermione, my feelings are so bittersweet I push everything from my mind but the food. At some point in the meal, George deliberately knocks his right arm into mine, making me drop my fork in surprise.

"Wouldn't you agree?"

"What?" I ask, completely out of it.

"It's too much, what he's offering," George says with a funny look on his face.

"We're not taking it," Fred chimes in.

"I literally have no idea what you're going on about," I say, exasperated.

"Harry's just offered us his Triwizard winnings for our shop," Fred explains in disbelief. "No way we can take it, mate."

"I don't need it," Harry's insisting, "and I don't want it, either. You'll put it to better use than me. With you, it'll make people laugh. We're all going to need a laugh, I think, in the times ahead."

"We just can't," George insists. I can see, though that he knows it'll make up for the raw deal they got from Bagman.

"Look," Harry says, "either take it or I'm going to stuff them down a drain somewhere."

"Okay," I interrupt, tired of this going around in circles. "If you won't take it for nothing, why don't you take it as a loan? Nothing wrong with taking a loan to start a business."

This they can agree to, and soon we are toasting to the future of Fred's and George's business dreams.

"You know," Fred says thoughtfully, in my direction. "If we're going to get serious about this, we might be in need of another team member. Your Canary Creams are a hit, you know. Pure creative genius."

"Plus, I'd feel sorry for anyone who tried to deal sideways with you around," George adds, making me think back to the day of my little chat with Bagman.

"I'll consider once you pay up," I say to Fred as I finish off my dessert.

"Pay up?"

"Yeah," I remind him. "You bet me a butterbeer that I couldn't make it to Hogsmeade without shivering that day, and then you up and left. I haven't forgotten."

"You'll have to come visit this summer," Fred says, laughing at the memory. "George might even cough up a mug, too, if you came."

Out talks are silenced, however, as the food disappears from the table. Dumbledore steps forth.

"To all our honoured guests, I want to first thank you all for a wonderful year together, and the chance to get to know each other as we haven't for a long time."

He holds us all in his gaze – from the Durmstrang lot, Karkaroff absent, having run off in fear after the final task, to the politely listening Beauxbatons crowd, until finally his gaze lands on me over at the Gryffindor table. It remains there as he continues. "I also want to make it clear that any and all of you will always be welcome here at Hogwarts, at any time. Truly."

"Now, I don't mean to ruin our last evening here together," he continues, gaze landing on different faces throughout the crowd. "But there are things you all must know. Voldemort has returned. It was Voldemort who killed Cedric Diggory."

There are a few scattered gasps, and many scared expressions, but no one utters a word. We in our group, though not surprised, listen grimly.

"I believe – desperately hoping that I am wrong – that we are entering into dark times. It is now, then, that I ask you all to remember Cedric Diggory as he was. If ever you have to choose between good and easy, remember the boy we all knew to be one of the best, the kindest, and the bravest of us all. Remember Cedric."


	28. The End

The End

In the morning, I don't go up to the castle for breakfast. I braced myself yesterday to leave it behind, and if I go back up, I'll only brood all the way home.

Harry, Ron and Hermione come out to say goodbye anyway, as I knew they would. We gather around the carriage, now out on the lawn, as Madame and Hagrid harness the horses.

"Have a good summer," they all say, or variations of it.

"Don't forget to write," Hermione says, throwing her arms around me. I get over the shock and hug her back.

"What kind of idiot do you think she is?" interrupts Fred, sauntering over.

"Forget something so basic," George scoffs. "They'd send her straight back to first year, I bet, teach her to tie her shoes again, too. Sheesh, Hermione."

"I will," I say, rolling my eyes at the brothers. "You all have to, too. It gets pretty lonely back home, so I'm counting on you to keep me entertained."

"We are leaving right away," Madame announces, finishing with the horses. She nods to our little group and hoists herself up into the carriage.

"Well," I say, stretching out the moment, "bye."

I don't think I've ever seen George look so astonished as when I stand on tiptoe to hug him goodbye. Fred is more prepared, though, since he correctly assumed if I hugged George, I'd get him, too. Harry and Ron sort of line up after that.

I very reluctantly leave the cluster and climb up inside. Immediately, the carriage jerks into motion.

"I cannot wait," Jess says, looking ahead as we fly up into the air. I'd forgotten what the ride felt like. "Alain is meeting me right at Beauxbatons. I 'ave missed him so!"

I, however, am looking backwards as my friends fall out of sight, leaving Fleur to chat with Jess about her summer plans. Eventually, though, I turn to those still with me.

"What are you going to go now?" I ask Fleur.

"Oh," she says, "I am taking a job in London, where I can improve my English. Do you know what you are doing?"

"You know," I tell her, "I think I do."

A week later, I find myself sitting in what was built to be a sunroom, but had since been commandeered by me as a library of sorts, with bookshelves filling up the bits of wall that aren't made of tall glass panels. I'm not reading now, though. Instead, I sit gazing out the window, absentmindedly folding and refolding the letter in my hands.

After an immeasurable amount of time, I open it up once more and stare at the words, my first letter of the summer.

_Ari,_

_Summer's off to an interesting start here. I can't say too much, though I will tell you that we're on a vacation of sorts, even if it's one involving a lot of duelling with dust bunnies. Fred and I have appointments at the Ministry over the summer to take our Apparition exams. Don't know why we need to sit the exam; we've perfected the effect in class this last year. Of course, I'm just slightly better than Fred at it (don't tell him I say so). _

_We're also working on another invention, though, again, I won't say what it is on here, in case Mum decides to filch the mail in search of more order forms. You'll just have to see it for yourself next time you're around. _

_Hope your summer is more exciting than our is, what with all the bear wrestling and mountain climbing I'm sure you're up to._

_Cheers,_

_George_

I finally make a decision I've been putting off ever since I came home for the summer. I take out a fresh piece of parchment and write a quick letter, sealing it once I've finished. The silvery fabric I pull from inside of a trick book is quickly shoved under my favourite off-white sweater.

The first and most obvious place to find answers about my father is my mother herself. And while it's not likely I'll get anything useful out of her, I decide then that I'll need to pay her a visit when I travel to London to meet with Fleur and Jess at the end of the summer.

Yet, there are still some things I can do from here.

I head out into the woods, waiting until I'm out of sight of the house to conceal myself in the cloak. I choose the quickest path to the isolated grove where my owl sits nestled on a branch just within reach. She wakens suddenly, alarmed when I approach, invisible to her.

I tie the letter on her leg and tell her in a low voice –

"Take this to Dumbledore."


	29. The Search Begins

**Hello everyone! **

**I was originally planning on breaking up the story between years but have since decided against it; I'll just add a little author's note instead. I'm also changing the name of the story when I publish the chapter after this, since I had a name picked out for the later parts & now they're all going to be under one. After the next chapter, the story'll be titled, _'The Strength to Choose_.'**

**Thank you very much everyone who has taken the time to read this far, and extra special thanks to those who've taken the additional time to favourite, follow, and review my work, I really do appreciate it! I hope if you're enjoying the series so far, you continue to do so! **

**Thanks again for reading!**

The Search Begins

_July 23, 1995_

_To the Ministry of Magic Public Information Services,_

_Ministry of Magic,_

_I am looking for information on one Tomas Mavros, birthdate unknown, date of death estimated between late fall 1979 to spring 1980. I believe he was working as an auror during the Wizarding War during that time period. Anything you can find would be extremely useful._

_Sincerely_

_Arielle R. A. Mavros_

**_July 29, 1995_**

**_Dear Miss Arielle Rowena Arcturus Mavros,_**

**_I am writing to inform you that we received your letter, on the twenty-third of July, regarding your inquiry about one Tomas Malachi Mavros._**

**_Unfortunately, the information you have requested has been ruled as classified at the request of the individual's next of kin, and cannot be given out without express permission._**

**_Regards,_**

**_Hakim Lefoy_**

**_Ministry of Magic Public Information Services_**

**_Ministry of Magic_**

It's mid-August when I find myself on a plane touching down in London. Just like last year, Jess is there waiting for me, rushing in for a welcoming hug after months apart.

"You 'ave grown!" she says, as if it surprises her.

"You cut your hair!" The silky, straight black hair that has always hung to her waist has been chopped into an edgy style that hardly brushes her shoulders.

"It was time for a change," she says nonchalantly. If it was me, I'd probably cry, no matter how bitterly I complain about my own mane. "Alain says it is 'ot."

"Well, he's right," I laugh. "Where's Fleur?" The three of us have a weekend planned together before Jess and Fleur both return to work next week.

"She's meeting us there," Jess replies, leading me out to a waiting limousine. If Jess is anything, it's flashy. "She 'ad to work a little late today."

"Oh," I say as the vehicle starts to move. "Remember that little pizza parlour we found last year? We should eat there tonight. I'm starving!"

"Maybe tomorrow," she says as the driver makes a rather sharp left turn. "We 'ave reservations at the Alain Ducasse tonight."

"Sounds fancy," I reply, though I can't say for sure.

"It is."

We chat easily after that, until we arrive at our destination, The Dorchester. Fleur is waiting impatiently just inside the lobby, and while she doesn't dive at me like Jess did in the more relaxed airport, she does embrace us both, asking how our flights in were.

We go up to the restaurant floor and are ushered to our seats in a timely manner. The place looks like it popped out of a movie. I almost whistle when I see the prices on the menu. "You could buy a used car for the same price," I say in a low voice.

Fleur rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic," she says loftily. "You could eat 'ere every day for the rest of your life and 'ardly put a dent in your vault. Besides, it is my treat tonight."

"Awesome. What's the most expensive thing on the menu?" I joke, and they both smile at that.

Jess tells us about her internship at the French Ministry's office building, and how Alain has been promoted this summer. Once she's caught us up to speed, I turn to Fleur.

"You never did say what sort of job you took," I remind her. She'd either overlooked the question when I wrote her, or purposely withheld the information.

"Oh," she says, sipping her wine, "I 'ave taken a job at Gringott's for the summer. After that, I don't know what will 'appen. 'Opefully, a permanent position will open up before I 'ave to look elsewhere."

Our food arrives then, the sort of plates that are beautifully decorated but meagrely filled. It's very good, though, and after the busy day travelling from the mountains, I don't feel like I could eat another bite, anyway.

"Let's go back to your 'ouse early tonight," Jess suggests once we're back outside in the warm evening air. "Tomorrow we can go shopping and see the sights, but I am just too tired tonight." I am all for that idea, struggling to keep my eyes open once we're sitting in Jess's limo again.

Fleur, after working all day, agrees without an argument, and we are soon asleep, crammed cozily into Fleur's one bedroom, resting up to spend the next couple days together, just like old times.


	30. Mom

Mom

Monday, after Fleur and I see Jess's plane off and Fleur returns to work, I walk the few blocks to the entrance to St. Mungo's, disguised to the Muggles as an abandoned department store.

"Good morning," I say politely to the woman at the front desk as I pass. I don't need directions; I could find Mom's room on the fourth floor blindfolded.

When I get there, Mom is sitting in her rocking chair, facing the window. The sunlight streaming in makes her limp blonde hair shine in the moment. I don't remember much about Mom from Before, but I do remember her cascading, honey-blonde hair, tickling my cheeks, or gleaming in the sun, like it is doing now. She's got a lace doily draped like a cap over it today, and an oven mitt on one hand. She's wearing a red outfit, with one green sock and a pink slipper. I've seen her in far stranger ensembles, however, and this one doesn't even phase me.

"Hey, Mom," I say quietly, from the doorway. It's best not to startle her, I've learned from experience.

"Baby?" Trancelike, she turns slowly at the sound of my voice, as if she doesn't believe her ears.

"Yeah," I say, stepping forward, "It's me."

Faster than she looks like she's capable of moving, she springs up from her chair and darts over to wrap me in a weak hug. She's even thinner than last summer.

"Why didn't you come in yesterday?" She demands when she pulls back. "I wanted to wish you happy birthday on your special day."

I know better than to try tell her that my birthday was months ago. "Sorry," I say instead.

"That's alright," she says. "Just don't forget next year. Tell me, how is Piper doing?"

Piper was the name of the messenger owl we kept before Mom was admitted. Long dead, she asks about her every time she sees me.

"Piper's great," I tell her. "She's been busy taking letters back and forth all summer. I think she likes the work, after sitting around all winter." Technically, I'm not even lying – when Piper died the year after Mom left, I named the replacement owl after her. My current owl is actually Piper III.

"Good," she says. "You take good care of her. She was your father's, you know."

"I know," I reassure her. "Hey, Mom, speaking of Dad, there's some things I've been wanting to ask you."

"Don't mention his name," she says, immediately agitated.

"I won't," I hastily tell her. "We don't have to mention names."

"Of course," she says agreeably. "Has he finished the back deck, then?"

"Who?"

She lowers her voice. "Well, John, of course. I hated to leave the project unfinished, but if there's one man you can rely on, it's John. Most capable Muggle I've ever met."

"Mom, this is serious," I say, whispering intently. "Voldemort's back, and–"

"_Don't_ say the name," she says, her eyes widening to show the whites. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," I say, "but Fudge refuses to believe it, refuses to act. Mom, I need to know about my Dad. Why is his information classified? I wrote to the Ministry, and they told me the information had been classified at the request of his next of kin. That would be you, right? Mom, what's going on? Why don't I have access to the file?"

"If Voldemort's back…this is more serious than I thought," Mom rambles, running a hand roughly through her hair in agitation.

"Mom?" I put a hand on her shoulder, tensing as I wait for her to lose her composure completely.

"Your father is not at all like you've been led to believe…" Suddenly, her eyes go to my own hair, swept up into a messy ponytail, and her face crumples in horror. "No…oh God, not yet…"

I glance at a mirror on the wall – surely my hair isn't _that_ terrible – and what I see makes even me gasp. I'd noticed, of course, over the summer, that my hair had darkened a little more, enough that I could now call it light brown, rather than dark blonde, but it's not light brown any more.

I blink, not really believing what I see until I move closer to the mirror to study myself. Since I put it up this morning at the hotel, it's managed to darken to a medium brown colour, no matter what angle I turn as I look into the mirror. I pull the end of the pony towards my face and study it directly, but it's still way too dark.

"What's happening, Mom?" I say, turning back to her in my bewilderment.

She's staring at me, oddly calm, a strange look in her feverish eyes. "You're going to forget everything we've talked about today."

"No, Mom," I say, at the risk of sending her into a fit, "I need to know. Even if you'd just give me permission to view the file at the Ministry–"

Mom crosses the few steps between us as I speak. "You are going to leave this place and go for a walk," she says, placing her bony hands on my temples. "You're going to come back with no memory of this talk."

The room is sweltering, the humidity fogging my thoughts. "You know, I think I'll take a walk," I say. Maybe a walk will help clear my head.


	31. Mom II

Mom

Monday, after Fleur and I see Jess's plane off and Fleur returns to work, I walk the few blocks to the entrance to St. Mungo's, disguised to the Muggles as an abandoned department store.

"Good morning," I say politely to the woman at the front desk as I pass. I don't need directions; I could find Mom's room on the fourth floor blindfolded.

When I get there, Mom is sitting in her rocking chair, facing the window. The sunlight streaming in makes her limp blonde hair shine in the moment. I don't remember much about Mom from Before, but I do remember her cascading, honey-blonde hair, tickling my cheeks, or gleaming in the sun, like it is doing now. She's got a lace doily draped like a cap over it today, and an oven mitt on one hand. She's wearing a red outfit, with one green sock and a pink slipper. I've seen her in far stranger ensembles, however, and this one doesn't even phase me.

"Hey, Mom," I say quietly, from the doorway. It's best not to startle her, I've learned from experience.

"Baby?" Trancelike, she turns slowly at the sound of my voice, as if she doesn't believe her ears.

"Yeah," I say, stepping forward, "It's me."

Faster than she looks like she's capable of moving, she springs up from her chair and darts over to wrap me in a weak hug. She's even thinner than last summer.

"You're not skipping school, are you?" she demands suddenly. "Christmas holidays aren't for another week yet!"

"No, I'm not skipping," I reassure her. I know better than to correct her and instead offer an explanation that fits her beliefs. "I finished my exams early, and Madame let me leave early."

"As long as you aren't neglecting your studies," my mother lectures. "What about Piper? I haven't seen her since last Thanksgiving."

It's been a lot longer than 'since last Thanksgiving,' but I don't bring that up. Piper was the name of the owl we had when I was small, before Mom was admitted here. She's belonged to my father, and without fail, Mom would ask about her. That was a long time ago, though, and I've had to replace 'Piper' a couple times since. We're now up to Piper III.

"She's good," I say instead. "She's been busy taking letters back and forth all summer. I think she likes the work, after sitting around all winter."

"Good," Mom says, mollified. "You take good care of her. She was your father's, you know."

"I know," I say, seeing my opening. "Speaking of Dad, I have some questions to ask you."

"Don't mention his name," she says, immediately agitated.

"I won't," I hastily tell her. "We don't have to mention names."

"We don't have to," she agrees, but I can see in her eyes that I've already managed to unsettle her. "We don't have to, don't have to, don't have to, don't have to…" She rocks back and forth on her feet, her bony figure swaying.

"Mom, this is serious," I say, desperately trying to get some sort of answer. "Voldemort's back, and–"

"Don't say the name!" she shrieks. "You can't say his name, promise me you won't!" She drags a hand down her arm, blood welling from the scratch almost instantly.

"Okay, Mom, it's okay," I say hastily, hurrying to her side. I put my hands on her arms to prevent further injury. "I won't say it. It's alright, I promise."

But she's too wound up to hear me. "Don't say it, don't say it, we don't have to, don't have to!" She's hollering now, drawing the attention of the orderly out in the common room, where a couple others had been listening to music and swatting balloons back and forth with badminton rackets.

"Mary, it's alright," the orderly, a tall dark man I recognize from last summer. "You're alright, you're safe–"

Mom, however, reacts badly to his intervention and reaches up, nails flying, right at his face. Showcasing his awesome reflexes, the man ducks out of the way, and Mom's momentum brings her hand to my face. I reel back. For a small, frail woman, she sure can swing. I feel the burning sensation where her nails made contact, followed by the warm trickle that tells me I'm bleeding.

"I need backup in here!" he shouts, and almost immediately, another orderly enters. Mom's fled back to the window, where she lifts up her end table effortlessly, and slams it into the window. Obviously magicked to prevent breaking, the window holds until the two can pry her away from the area.

I glance in the mirror up on the wall, and see long gouges running from my light brown hair to the edge of my jaw.

"The tea is poisoned! Somebody catch the chicken! Help! He's back! Voldemort! Voldemort! VOLDEMORT!" Her screams ramble off unintelligibly, and the first man turns to me.

"You'd better leave for now," he says, struggling to restrain my mother, who's trying to crawl up the side of her rocking chair. "You can come back tomorrow."

I nod, and with one last look at Mom, I retreat back out into the hall. The lady at the reception desk helpfully heals my cheek with a quick wave of her wand, and I walk slowly back to Fleur's apartment, where I sit and brood until she gets home.


	32. Attack

Attack

The next morning, I get up way too early so I can have breakfast with Fleur before she heads to work.

"Good morning," she says cheerfully, when I finally drag myself out of the shower. "I made omelets." She brings over two plates to the table as I sit.

"Thanks," I say. I'll have to make sure I get up even earlier tomorrow and fix her breakfast.

She's already returning to the counter to grab two teacups for us. Suddenly, I sit up straighter and stare at her.

"Are you _whistling_?" I ask incredulously. I didn't even know she could whistle, but the jaunty tune is what really throws me off. Maybe if she was whistling Mozart, or something, it wouldn't seem as strange.

"What is wrong with that?" she asks, handing me my cup and a teabag.

"Nothing," I say casually. "I just didn't even know you _could_ whistle. You must really like this job."

"I do," she says cheerily as she pours cream and sugar into her tea. She knows better than to bother offering them to me.

"Don't take this badly," I say, trying to figure out how to put my words, "but I don't know what sort of boring old bank internship could possibly be exciting enough for show tune whistle fests."

"It is not so much the work," she answers smarmily. "But the people are quite nice, actually, for Brits."

"Fleur," I say in mock astonishment. "Careful, or you might lose your snobbish prestige! Tell me, who is he? You can't be this cheerful about simply nice coworkers. I want the whole story!"

She shrugs, but can't bite back a smile. "Just someone at work," she says vaguely. "He is just a very nice person; he takes the time to 'elp me learn what I don't know. Some of the other staff just shake their 'eads at the French girl 'oo needs so much 'elp, but he…he is not like them."

"So has he asked you out yet?" I demand, pressing for details.

"No, no," she says hurriedly. "'E is not like that. I don't think 'e knows 'ow I am feeling. We are just friends, if we are even that. You would like him, though. 'E is a very fun person."

"Well, he'd be stupid to leave it like that," I say supportively. Jokingly, I add, "maybe if you turn on just a little of the ol' Veela charm, he'd be caught."

She turns thoughtful at that. "No. I want 'im to like me for me, not because I tricked 'im that way."

"You really like this guy," I say in amazement. Fleur has always been the pragmatic one, while Jess channels her inner romantic feelings.

"I really do," she admits. "I 'ave to get going now. You are visiting your mother again today, yes? Did you want a ride to the 'ospital?"

"No, I can walk," I say, looking out at the sunny morning sky. "I'll go with you to the bank first, though, and you can introduce me."

She scoops up her keys and opens the door. "You are not meeting 'im," she throws over her shoulder. "Not until I am sure you will not scare 'im away!"

"I don't know," I call after her, "sounds like a good way to know if he can handle us all!"

I don't hang around long before making my way back to St. Mungo's. The orderly informs me out in the hall that she's still a little twitchy from yesterday. I know there's no point in trying to bring anything about Dad up to her today.

"Happy Easter!" Mom says brightly, when I reach her room. I respond in kind, and just listen as she rambles nonsense all morning.

"How is Piper?" Mom asks me after lunch. "You take good care of her. She was your father's, you know."

"I know," I say gently. "Piper's fine." I turn the conversation to the weather, which Mom says is a very nice day for Easter to fall on, and she starts up again, happy to have someone to talk to.

She insists I stay through supper, and it's already dark by the time I leave the hospital. It's a short walk, though, and I'm not too worried as I start out down the street. I don't get far, however, before the humid night air begins to shift. I shiver in the sudden cold and pick up my pace, anxious to get to the warmth of Fleur's apartment. The shadows on the walls flicker menacingly at me as I hurry past.

I shake my head at that thought and blame my overactive imagination, until one of the shadows swoops up against the front window of a retail outlet. I stop in my tracks from the shock of it, watching as a creature resembling a Grim Reaper rises along the shop front before swooping up and directly over me. There are Dementors in the middle of London.

The movement breaks my pause, and I dart forward, only to come face to face with another hooded figure hovering above the ground. My heart is in my throat as it advances; I stumble backwards, tripping over a trash bin, and both the lid and myself clatter to the ground.

The figures dive in towards me, and I have to bite back a scream as one places a hand at my throat. I shudder, unable to look away from the rotting, scabbed flesh. It leans closer, its rattling breath oddly matching my rough gasps for air. Then it's breathing in right close to me, a stale, rotting odour overwhelming my sense of smell.

I can feel the darkness closing in now, and never have I felt as alone shut away at home than I do now. I close my eyes with the heaviness of my thoughts, until the Dementor's hand seems to involuntarily contract against my throat. The pain brings me back to myself, just enough to remember my wand and pull it out.

"Expecto Patronum!" I gasp, thinking as always of the first summer that Fleur and Jess invited me to stay with them before the start of school. It's the first time I ever really felt like I was accepted by anyone for myself.

But now, nothing happens. I grasp around in my mind for another recollection, immediately coming up with one from the past year.

"Expecto Patronum!" I say again, louder as I hold on to the memory. This time, the magic comes powerfully flying through the air in the form of a flock of small sparrows. The shadows retreat in horror at the shapes, which chase them off successfully.

I could cry, I'm so relieved, but I don't. Instead, I stand up on trembling legs of jelly, and make my way as fast as I can to Fleur's.

When I get there, she's sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of forms.

"I didn't think you'd stay so long," she says, finishing off the line she's working on. "I was starting to wor – God, Arielle, what happened to you?"

"Dementors," I say shakily. "There were two, not far from St. Mungo's – they attacked me," I manage, and in a flash, she's up and running for me, wrapping her arms comfortingly around me.

We stay like that in the warm kitchen light for a long, long time until I stop shaking. It's only because of Fleur's hug and my new happiest memory that I eventually calm down enough to sit at the table with a hot cup of Earl Grey Green tea and give Fleur a more complete retelling of what happened in the streets.


	33. Summons

Summons

In the morning, there are two owls waiting outside the kitchen window to be let in. One, Fleur's spotted owl, Hibou, is carrying the Daily Prophet. The other, a non-descript barn owl, holds a single letter, which it drops off at my spot.

Fleur raises a brow at me curiously but instead takes the paper from her owl. "Thank you, Bou," she says, flipping promptly to the gossip page.

I pat the other owl and get it a treat before sitting down to see what has arrived. I sip my morning coffee – only the strongest stuff for so early in the morning – and settle in to see what's in the letter. Hopefully, it has something to do with one of my inquiries about my father. I quickly see that it's not that sort of letter at all.

**_Dear Miss Arielle Rowena Arcturus Mavros,_**

**_We are responding to information that you performed magic, namely the Patronus Charm, on the twentieth of August, at three minutes past ten, in an area populated by Muggles. _**

**_The severity of your breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery will result in your expulsion from school, as well as the destruction of your wand. Should you wish to challenge the ruling, you will be present at the Ministry of Magic Courtroom no later than two thirty in the afternoon on the twenty-first of August._**

**_Regards,_**

**_Prucilla Gambode_**

**_Improper Use of Magic Office_**

**_Ministry of Magic_**

I know my face is as pale as it feels, since Fleur takes one look at me and reaches for the letter, scanning it from top to bottom.

"This is unreasonable!" she exclaims, waving the paper above her head. "You were _attacked_! What were you supposed to do – just let them suck out your soul? Get dressed, Ari, I am going down to the Ministry with you and we are going to sort this out!"

She whirls off to get ready, and I follow along numbly behind, terrified at the possibility of losing everything I've come to love in one fell swoop.

Fleur drives like she's the new female lead in _Fast & Furious_, arriving at the Ministry in record time. She's up out of the car and around to my side before I can even get the door open.

"Come on," she says, motioning for me to follow.

"I don't see what's the hurry," I say, though I follow obediently. "We're almost an hour early as it is."

"I do not like to keep people waiting," she replies, as we swing around a corner. I'm about to ask who would be waiting for us, but I spot Mr. Weasley and his red hair from a distance.

"Thank you for meeting us, Monsieur Weasley," Fleur says, crisply shaking his hand.

Mr. Weasley looks slightly flustered by her businesslike tone. "Of course," he says, "always happy to help friends of my children. You've gotten taller – Ari, was it?"

"Yes," I nod, "it's nice to see you again, Mr. Weasley. How is everyone enjoying their summers?"

I want to kick myself for such a stupid question. _Oh, just dandy,_ I answer myself, _Voldemort's back, you know, and we don't know just when he might decide to swing in for a cup of tea – _

Nevertheless, he smiles and opens his mouth to answer, just as Fleur cuts in.

"You need to focus," she tells me brusquely. "We need to find our way to the courtrooms, and Mr. Weasley, while kind enough to 'elp us, is missing work for you to stand out 'ere and ask questions."

Mr. Weasley eyes Fleur, surprised at her cutting tone. "Of course," he says, getting back to business. "If you'll follow me…"

"Uh, Mr. Weasley," I say hesitantly. "That's a telephone booth."

He's stepped into the far corner of a bright red telephone booth just off the sidewalk. His eyes light up at my words. "Ah, yes – telephone, that is the word for it. I'd completely forgotten."

Fleur only hesitates for a second before grabbing my arm and hauling me into the booth. Mr. Weasley punches in a few numbers once the door's shut behind us, and then the floor of the booth rockets downwards. Although I want to scream in surprise the way Fleur does at that, I'm glad I don't as the elevator grinds to a halt a few seconds later.

"Level Eight," Mr. Weasley says, the elevator door sliding open. We step out, Fleur and I on shaky legs, and follow Mr. Weasley across the room, past what looks like a reception area, and over to another elevator.

"Aren't there any stairs?" I ask, wanting to avoid reliving that experience.

"We will take the lift down a floor to Level Nine, and then it's only stairs to Level Ten, where the courtrooms are," Mr. Weasley says, leading us into a larger elevator. "Speaking of lifts, have you ever learned about Muggle elevator technology? It's quite something. I remember one time…"

Level Nine, when we reach it in one piece, is completely different from the welcoming, governmental atmosphere one floor up. Completely devoid of windows, or any source of bright light, the long corridor we step into is lit only sporadically by simple torchlight. At the end of the hall, we reach a single door that opens into a bigger, circular area. Closed doors line the wall, but Mr. Weasley leads us to a staircase off to the left.

"Just down these stairs here," he says, and he leads the way down.

Level Ten is walled with stone, and much like the level before it, is lit with torches, though this level has more of them.

We walk down another hallway, passing heavy doors on either side of the path, until we stop at one about halfway to the end.

"Here you are," Mr. Weasley says, opening the door for us. He ushers me in, and for a terrible moment, I think he's leaving us here to wait alone, but he follows us inside.

The large room has seating all the way around the circular perimeter, with only a single chair obstructing the floor in the middle of the room. It's there that I take a seat. Fleur inches forward until she's standing just behind me supportively. One chair along the wall is set apart from the rest, and it's the man residing there who addresses us first, a man I recognize as Cornelius Fudge, Minster for Magic. We met briefly last year, when Dumbledore tried to tell him that Voldemort had returned.

"Arthur," the man speaks out, "shouldn't you be working?"

"Yes, well," he responds, "I was just helping Ari, here, to find her way about. She's never been to the Ministry before, you see."

"What I don't see," the man says unkindly, "is what you're still doing here when your quarterly report is due Monday."

"I'll get back to it after the trial," Mr. Weasley replies. "You can't make a young girl sit through a hearing with no guardian present."

"I haven't seen any sort of paperwork declaring _you_ guardianship, Weasley," the man says, the humour in his voice cold. "I would think you've got quite enough mouths to feed of your own, without taking in a stray."

I open my mouth to speak, but a couple things happen at once that prevent me from doing so. Firstly, Fleur, knowing it's only a matter of time before I open my mouth and anger the judge who is about to decide my fate, discreetly shoves her elbow into my ribs. Secondly, someone chooses that moment to enter the room through the door behind us.

"What Mr. Weasley chooses to do or not to, is none of your business, Fudge," a man who can only be Dumbledore says.

I spin around in my chair to make sure I'm not mistaken. I'm not.

"Professor Dumbledore," I say, half disbelieving, "what are you doing here?"

"Ah," he says, "as soon as Miss Delacour contacted young Mr. Weasley, and he his father, Arthur here made sure I was aware of these goings on. I must say, I'm glad he did, if the Ministry has gone so far as to threaten expulsion for a student whose only crime was to protect herself from an attack."

"Well, if you're staying, another chair will have to be drawn up," Fudge says testily. "As for the other girl, she will have to leave. You, Weasley, are to return to work, and don't think about going home until that report is on my desk."

"Thank you," I say to Fleur and Mr. Weasley as they take their leave. My stomach is a knot of nerves when I turn back to the room of strangers. At least Dumbledore is still here.

"You are Arielle Rowena Arcturus Mavros, of Snowdrop Manor, Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada, is this correct?" Fudge begins, after stating the date and accusations of the trial.

"Yes," I say.

"You conjured a Patronus on a London street on the twentieth of August, correct?"

"Yes, but–"

"You were aware that doing so was in violation of the law?" he continues, speaking over me.

"Well, yes," I start again, meaning to explain. "But there really were–"

Another witch in the stands near Fudge interrupts now. "You produced a fully formed Patronus?"

"Yes," I say hesitantly, not sure where this is headed.

"Who taught you how to produce a Patronus?" she asks now. "What form does it take?"

"Professor Renauld, at Beauxbatons Academy. We learn the Patronus Charm earlier there than at Hogwarts. My Patronus has always been a small flock of sparrows." I don't mention that the others of my year struggled more with the magic.

"Impressive," she says, nodding in thought.

"Whether or not the spell was 'impressive' has little to do with our concern over Underage Wizardry, and the possible Muggle sightings she may have caused."

"There were _Dementors_," I say, exasperated enough at Fudge to blurt it out.

"A plausible story," Fudge retorts, "especially since there's not a witness to be found."

"Actually," Dumbledore speaks up. "One has come forward." I raise an eyebrow in his direction, not remembering anyone else on the street.

"We don't have time for this," Fudge says, waving his hand dismissively.

"She may be unfamiliar with British Wizarding Laws," Dumbledore says easily, "but I know her rights. And, as you are well aware, she has the right to call forth witnesses to help plead her case."

"Where is this witness, then?" Fudge demands testily.

Right then, there's a knock at the door, and a middle-aged witch in St. Mungo's robes enters.

"This is Holly St. Denis," Dumbledore states by way of introduction.

Fudge waves at her to begin.

"I only have a few moments," Holly says quickly. "My shift begins shortly. However, last night, on the twentieth of August, I'd just returned home from work at about ten o'clock in the evening. I turned on the kettle for a nice, relaxing cuppa, when I happened to glance out the window onto the street. That's when I saw them; two Dementors bent over a figure – a young girl – laying on the concrete. Then, the girl pulled out a wand and conjured a Patronus. The Dementors fled, and the girl got to her feet and hurried away."

"And what shape did the Patronus take?" Fudge questions.

"It was a strange one," she says, "rather than a single creature, it seemed to be a flock of birds, or some other winged creatures. If you don't have any more questions, I need to get to work."

"That is quite enough," Fudge says, and the woman exits, before I have a moment to thank her.

"Strange place, the middle of London, to find a pair of Dementors, Minister," Dumbledore muses. "I was under the impression that the Dementors were to remain in Azkaban unless otherwise ordered by the Ministry."

"They are," Fudge snaps. "I don't see why a couple would be so far out in the first place!"

"Yet we have a credible witness stating that they were, in fact, out so far. I would think the Ministry would want to order an inquiry into the matter straightaway."

"You have no authority to advise me in how to deal with the matter! We are here to discuss a serious incident involving underage wizardry within the city of London itself!"

"As you've already heard," Dumbledore says, calm in the face of Fudge's temper, "there was just cause for Miss Mavros to use magic. As I'm sure you would agree, you are very busy since I've been asked to leave the Wizengamot, and a speedy verdict would be beneficial to all parties."

"Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" Fudge asks the room testily. I'm vastly relieved to see far more than half of the hands in the room go up, including the woman who asked me about my Patronus. "Those in favour of conviction?" The remaining hands climb into the air; both Fudge and a prim-looking woman in a horrid pink sweater sitting to his right are among the minority.

"Very well," Fudge practically snaps. "The accused is cleared of all charges. Court is dismissed."

Dumbledore promptly leads me from the room. On our way up the stairs, I turn to the Headmaster. "Thanks for coming," I say, "I don't know how that would've turned out if it wasn't for all of you there."

"I don't know, either," he says grimly. "But one thing I do know – the streets are no longer safe, even so close to the Ministry itself. I've arranged for Arthur Weasley to pick you up in an hour, so hurry back and pack your bags. You'll be staying with the Weasleys until it's time for school to start up again."

I mean to ask Dumbledore more about the decisions he's making for me, but we're suddenly back on Level Eight, and Dumbledore slips off before I can even open my mouth. Fleur is waiting there, though, and she hurries me back out into the sunshine and we head to her apartment immediately.


	34. 12 Grimmauld Place

12 Grimmauld Place

Back at Fleur's apartment, I hurriedly pack, throwing my things into the trunk very helter-skelter. The rush hour traffic on the way back severely cut my packing time, and so when I tromp down the stairs with my belongings, Mr. Weasley is sitting at the table conversing with Fleur.

"Of course she'll be safe with us," Mr. Weasley is saying. "Dumbledore wouldn't suggest it otherwise." They break off the conversation, obviously about me, as I enter the room.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I say, "I'm ready now."

"We'd best be off, then," Mr. Weasley says gently. He gives us time to say our goodbyes, though.

Fleur, obviously worried, says in a tone that leaves no room for argument, "send an owl when you get there." I roll my eyes at that but make a mental note to do so. I wouldn't put it past Fleur to send out a howler if I forget.

Mr. Weasley and I head out to the street, where there's a Muggle taxi idling in front of Fleur's building.

"We're taking a cab?" I ask him, as the trunk pops up.

"Best not to take any route that can be traced," he explains, brightening as we slide into the backseat. "I have always found these things quite fascinating, really. Did you know, they've been using these taxems since the early seventeenth century? Of course, back then they hadn't invented veeckles yet…"

I ignore the funny look the cab driver is giving Mr. Weasley, and nod along like I don't already know this, interjecting every so often to correct him on something. "Taxis, Mr. Weasley…they call them 'vehicles'…that would be 'transmission,'" I explain, once his attention turns to the workings of the 'veeckles.'

He's amusing in an endearing way, his obsessive interest in Muggle ideas something I've never seen in a wizard before. Although to be fair, when I was finally informed of the magical world I belonged to, I read every book my tutor, Sven, brought me from front to back. I guess the unknown is just as alluring to others, no matter what side one comes from.

Finally the taxi stops on the curb in front of a row of dilapidated houses, and we pay the driver – Mr. Weasley looking helplessly at me, his hand full of Muggle money (I count it out for him) – and step out onto the grubby sidewalk.

"Is this the place?" I ask, uncertain.

Mr. Weasley, however, nods assuredly. "This is it…twelve Grimmauld Place."

I look at the row of houses, searching for a number twelve. There's only eleven and then straight to thirteen, though, and I look at Mr. Weasley questioningly.

"Number twelve," he insists, turning to face the narrow gap between eleven and thirteen.

_Number twelve_, I repeat in my head, and suddenly eleven and thirteen are sliding apart, to reveal a door marked with the number twelve, right in what used to be hardly enough room for a walkway, even. Up the steps to the front door we go, and Mr. Weasley opens the door and ushers me in, pressing a finger to his lips as I pass.

Inside, number twelve looks to be in competition with the griminess of eleven, thirteen, and the rest of its street, though it's easy to see that it must have been well-taken care of long ago. A beautiful crystal chandelier hangs in the entry hall, accented by old fashioned gas lamps on the walls. The dark green wallpaper, obviously once expensive, is peeling from the walls, and the gunmetal grey Persian rugs are faded and thin.

We pass a dining room on the left, directly opposite a portrait of a sleeping woman, who we tiptoe past. The end of the hall features a single door, and a staircase leading up just to the right of it.

We reach the end of the hall exactly as Mrs. Weasley appears, opening the door to reveal another, narrower staircase heading down.

"You're just in time, Arthur. How was work? Did everything go alright today?" Her gaze falls on me as she asks the last bit, and they spark with recognition. We'd met near the end of the last school year. "Nice to see you again, dear. Arthur and I have a meeting that is to start promptly. You may join the other children upstairs – Ginny and Hermione are on the next floor, first door on the right."

"Not all of us are children," a familiar voice retorts from the top of the stairs. I turn my head to the right and see Fred and George for the first time in almost two months, standing at the top of the stairs.

"Yeah," George adds, talking to his mother, "Fred and I are legally of age now. We should be allowed to join the Order if we want."

"Absolutely not," Mrs. Weasley is quick to snap. "You're still my children, and I say you are too young! Now, take Ari up to the rest and occupy yourselves until supper time – and no more blasted inventions, either!"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retreat down the stairs, shutting the door behind them. The boys grumble after their mother briefly before brightening and turning to me.

"We thought we'd heard your dulcet tones," George grins.

"Come on, then, we might as well join the others," Fred says, beckoning from the top of the staircase.

I bound up the stairs towards them, yelping when I glance at the wall, realizing my face is inches from a severed elf head, one of many hanging gruesomely along the length of the stairs. Somewhere below, another voice begins to scream blue murder. I halt and make to move back down to confront whoever is making the dreadful noise, but George darts down a few steps to grab my arm.

"There's no making her stop until she decides to go back to sleep," he says, and we rejoin Fred at the top of the stairs.

"Who?" I ask, as they pass by the first door on the right.

"That old hag in the picture down there," Fred explains. "Walburga Black, Sirius' mother. This is his house, you know. Did you know you've gotten taller since school?"

I didn't, but we draw up in front of another door, which opens to reveal a drawing room, where everyone else – Ron, Ginny, Harry, even Hermione – are gathered together. They all look up at our entrance.

"Ari!" Several voices announce at once, and everyone is up and crowding around to say hello at once.

"Hi," I say back, returning hugs from the girls.

"What happened at the Ministry today?" Hermione asks, before anyone else can speak up. "I looked it up once I heard what had happened, and there's no way the charges could've stuck – it's all explained in–"

"They dropped everything," I interrupt, not really caring what sort of laws she's been researching, although I am touched that she'd go through so much trouble for me. "It's not very interesting. What I'd like to know, is what everyone is doing here, and what's the 'Order' George mentioned downstairs?"

"The Order is actually the Order of the Phoenix, a secret society headed by Dumbledore, with the purpose of working to defeat You-Know-Who," Hermione is quick to say. "They originally formed during the First Wizarding War, but disbanded, obviously, until–"

"Until Voldemort came back," Harry says, cutting her off.

"We don't know much more than that," Ron joins in. "They've kept all their meetings secret from us. Fred and George tried out their Extendable Ears, but Mum caught them at it and tossed them all in the trash."

I nod, having already heard about the charmed Ears in a letter from the twins.

Fred and George, however, are grinning. Fred pulls out a flesh-coloured ear on a string from his pocket. "She didn't find all of them," he says wickedly.

"Don't let her catch you at it," Ron warns.

"She won't," George assures him, but Ginny interrupts with her first contribution to the others' conversation.

"It's no use," she says. "They've used an Imperturbable Charm on the door. Nothing can even touch the door right now, let alone slip under it."

"That's too bad," Fred says, sinking into an uncomfortably firm armchair. "I was hoping to find out what dear Snape's up to."

"Snape's here?" I ask, wondering who all have met here two floors below.

"Not usually," Hermione speaks up. "He's supposed to give some sort of report tonight, so he's in for the meeting."

"Gilly-livered old–" Ron mutters, before Hermione can cut him off.

"He's on our side now," she reminds Ron.

"Bill doesn't like him, either," Ginny joins in.

"Who's Bill?" I interrupt. Fred and Geoge glance at each other, amusement clear on their faces. "There's not another one!"

"The oldest," Fred confirms, smirking.

"I thought he was in Egypt?" Harry says.

"He applied for a transfer," Ron explains. "This way he can be closer to the Order."

"He misses the tombs, for some strange reason," Fred chimes in, "but I think he's gotten over that mightily quick."

"What would make you say so?" Ginny asks, her eyes on her brothers.

"Well," George says gleefully, "word on the street is that dear sweet Fleur Delacour is working at Gringot's now, too, in hopes of _eemproving 'er Eenglish_–"

"It's not that bad," I chide him.

"…and Bill's been giving her extra 'lessons,'" Fred snorts.

"_What_?" I exclaim, Fleur's recent dreamy manner suddenly making sense.

"I thought you'd known," Fred says, looking at me strangely. "After all, it was Bill who sent Dad the owl and arranged for him to meet you two this morning at the Ministry." I remember Dumbledore saying at the trial that Arthur Weasley had contacted him after 'young Mr. Weasley' told Arthur. It must have been Bill.

I am lost for words at the realization, so I switch topics until I can think this through later. "Is Charlie in the Order, too?"

"Yeah, but he's still in Romania, trying to establish foreign contacts for the Order," Ron answers.

I nod at that, although I'm a little disappointed. I would've liked to see Charlie again and talk about his work in greater detail. "Percy must be here, too, then," I surmise. That would make all the Weasleys Order members.

"Actually," Ron says somberly. "Percy isn't speaking to any of us anymore."

"What happened?" I ask in disbelief.

"Percy got promoted to Junior Assistant to the Minister this summer, and instead of being happy, like Percy expected, Dad got upset. Fudge's been cracking down on Dumbledore's supporters within the Ministry, really breathing down the necks of those he suspects," Ron replies.

"Course, Dad's one they're watching, and he figures that Percy was promoted so Fudge could keep an eye on the family," Fred adds.

"Percy would have liked that," I say, remembering Percy's self-important pride when I'd met him at the Yule Ball last year.

"He got mad," Ron confirms, "and basically told Dad he's had to break free of Dad's reputation, and if Dad had been more ambitious, we would've – well – had more money…then he told Dad he was an idiot for running around with Dumbledore. Percy told Dad he was loyal only to the Ministry, and if Mum and Dad were going to stand by Dumbledore as traitors to the Ministry, then Percy was no longer a member of this family. Then he packed his bags and left. Haven't heard from him since."

"Good riddance, if you ask me," George says in an oddly cold tone.

I sit for a second in stunned silence. I'd never thought Percy was as fun-loving as the twins, or as friendly and loyal as Ron, but I wouldn't have guessed he'd treat his own family like this, either.

Harry turns the conversation away from Percy, and we all eagerly distract ourselves from the somber topic, and we're all still there, gathered together in the drawing room, when Mrs. Weasley's voice floats up the stairs, calling us softly to the dinner table.

Before we can even stand, Fred and George look at each other and disappear with a popping sound.

Ron rolls his eyes, and his sister grins. "They passed their apparition exams last month," she says, as the rest of us head for the stairs on foot. "They've been apparating in and out of rooms ever since."

We are allowed through the doorway and down the stairs now, and we enter into a large room featuring a long table sort of like the ones in the great hall at Hogwarts. It's there that several people are already sitting, eying the plates full of food.

One catches my eye, and I smile in response. "Hello, Sirius," I say in a friendly tone. "It's nice to see you again."

"And you, too, Ari," he returns. "I suppose you haven't met Remus Lupin, though he taught the others for a year before you arrived on the scene. At his side, there, Nymphadora Tonks, an auror and Order member."

Lupin gives a wave as we're introduced. His light brown hair is peppered with grey, though I recognize the name as one of the Marauders, meaning the lines in his pale face mark him older than he actually is.

"Don't you dare use my first name," Tonks says sharply, before smiling. "Though if you remember that, it'll be nice to meet you." Her bright pink hair and eyebrow piercing make for quite the contrast beside Lupin.

"Alright, alright, let's eat already," Fred says, as he and George take seats at the table. He pats the seat between them, and I take my usual spot at the table.

"Don't think I've ever seen those two let someone separate those two," a red-haired man says from across the table. I didn't even notice him until he spoke.

"Not separating, Bill," Fred argues.

"Joining," they clarify together. Bill raises an eyebrow at that, but George turns back to me.

"Where's your snowflake?" he asks, and I look down quickly, surprised to find that my necklace isn't hanging at my throat like usual. I can feel the scratches, though, left behind by the Dementor, and I shiver at the memory.

"Don't be stupid," Fred interrupts. "It's August. Let's eat, already!"

We all grab our forks and begin to chat with each other. George picks up his and manages to bump my arm straightaway.

"Not this side again!" he groans.


	35. The Order and a Threat

The Order and a Threat

Dinner is a cheery and loud affair, as different conversations around the table try to talk over each other. Tonks gives up on being heard when dessert is served, and instead begins to distort her nose into strange shapes.

She's doing a pig snout when I speak up. "How are you doing that?" I ask, enthralled with the show she's putting on.

I'm a Metamorphmagus," she says, changing her face back to normal. "Meaning I can change myself without the use of spells or potions."

"Can anyone learn to do that?" I ask, fascinated with the thought.

"Sorry, but no," she answers. "Metamorphmagi are born, and it's not something that can be taught."

Mrs. Weasley begins to clear plates, and I stand to help, but she simply waves her wand and the dishes all fly to the sink in a neat stack.

"Kreacher!" Sirius calls. "Get in here and clean up the dishes!"

A little door opens up beside the fireplace, and a raggedly little house-elf crawls out of the opening. Dressed in filthy rags, and spouting tufts of white hair from his ears, the little creature glares coldly at Sirius as he fetches a stepping stool to place at the sink.

"We have some talking to do, yet," Mrs. Weasley says then. "You children can go back upstairs for the night. We'll clean up the dining room tomorrow – you'll want to get a good sleep tonight."

The Weasleys all grumble and head for the door, but Harry sits stubbornly at the table. "I'm staying," he says firmly, "I have a right to know what's going on."

"You're too young," Mrs. Weasley repeats, but Sirius clears his throat.

"He should know what's happening out there," he says quietly.

"If my guardian says I can, I'm staying," Harry repeats.

Mrs. Weasley sighs in defeat and waves her arm at the rest of us. "You lot can keep moving."

"I'm staying, too," I say, "no one here has the right to make me leave."

"We're of age," Fred says, sitting back down. "If they're staying, we are, too."

"Harry will just tell us everything, anyway," Ron adds, and he and Hermione sit back down, too, to the amusement of the rest of the adults.

"Oh, alright," Mrs. Weasley says testily, giving in. "Ginny, come on up to bed. I won't have you getting involved." Ginny protests bitterly, but Mrs. Weasley is standing firm in her decision, and leads her daughter back up the stairs.

Everyone is quiet until we hear the door at the top of the stairs shut behind the pair.

"So what is Voldemort up to?" Harry asks, the first to speak.

"Dumbledore thinks he's laying low, for now – while he builds up an army," Lupin answers. "We've been trying to inform the Wizarding world about his return, but the Ministry is working to convince people of just the opposite."

"Why would they do something so stupid?" I ask incredulously.

"The Minister, Fudge, is convinced that Dumbledore is trying to overthrow him, and he's decided that Dumbledore is trying to gain influence in the hopes of overthrowing Fudge and becoming Minister himself," Mr. Weasley jumps in.

"There was great support for Dumbledore to take the job before Fudge was appointed, you know," Lupin adds. I didn't know. "Fudge has never forgotten that."

I return to the bigger picture. "And if the Ministry is telling people that nothing is wrong, they're going to want to believe it," I muse.

Sirius nods. "It certainly doesn't help that the Daily Prophet is under Ministry control, and is set on slandering Dumbledore as well as anyone known to be supporting him."

"Voldemort's got other plans as well – there are certain…weapons that he's after. Ones he didn't have during the last war." This comes from Lupin.

"Weapon?" Harry asks. "Something worse than _Avada_–"

Mrs. Weasley appears at the foot of the stairs and cuts him off. "I think that is _quite_ enough information," she says, in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

"You can't tell us what to do," Fred retorts.

"Oh, yes, I can," his mother snaps. "To bed now, all of you. Ari, I've set up a bed in with Hermione and Ginny you can have."

"Thank you," I tell her, and we all stand reluctantly. The last one to reach the staircase, I turn at the last minute and look back at the group still gathered at the table.

"Bill?" His gaze snaps to mine at the sound of his name. "May I have a word with you?"

"Sure," he says, a little confused at the request. I motion for him to follow me up the stairs and out of hearing. I choose the dining room on the main level, turning to him once we're out of the hallway. He waits for me to speak, and I take a moment to study him. He's tall and slender, with hair as red as his siblings', and so handsome I can see immediately how he caught Fleur's attention. I'm surprised at the fang earring hanging from one lobe, an indicator that he's got a wild streak to him that might be good for my best friend.

"I'm getting to know your family quite well," I tell him, "and judging from that, I have no reason not to like you."

"I've only heard good things about you, too," he says easily.

I place a hand on my hip, as if to demonstrate that I mean business. "Then maybe you've heard that I've been attending Beauxbatons, until recently, and Fleur Delacour is one of my best friends. I promise you, if you break her heart, or hurt her in any way, whatever I do to you will be a thousand times worse."

"I can promise you," he replies, just as serious as I, "that I don't intend to hurt Fleur."

I study him for another moment, until I'm satisfied that his words are earnest. "On the other hand," I say, a glint of my usual humour returning, "I've always believed that Fleur needs someone who challenges her to get out and have fun. You seem like the type to help her with that."

Bill smiles at that. "She is a bit uppity, isn't she?"

"A bit?" I snort. "I'm pretty sure the Queen has more fun than Fleur. At least when I'm not around, anyway."

"I'll be sure to keep things exciting, then, while you're off at school," he promises. "Did you say you'd been at Beauxbatons until recently?"

"My transfer to Hogwarts has been approved," I nod. "The others don't know yet, so I'd appreciate if you don't say anything."

"Of course," he says. "Hogwarts will be a good place for you, I think. Can I ask you to keep an eye out for my brothers, and Ginny? Mum's always worried when they leave, but even I'm worried, what with You-Know-Who back to power. You seem to be especially close with Fred and George, and sometimes I wonder if they don't get a little carried away at times. It would put my mind at ease knowing there's someone looking out for them while they're away."

"I will," I agree. "Thanks, Bill. But don't forget my warning, either. I'm serious – no matter how much I like you, I won't let anyone hurt my friends without consequence."

"I'm counting on that," he says seriously. "I'd best be heading home, though. I've got work in the morning. I'll tell Fleur you arrived here safely. It's best to wait until you return to school to send an owl."

"Good night," I say, and we head in opposite directions – Bill to the door, and me up the stairs at the other end of the hall.

Fred and George are sitting up in the drawing room still when I pass by the doorway.

"Good talk?" George asks, keeping his eyes on a stack of papers sitting on the table.

"Don't know what you mean," I say casually, entering the room. I take a seat opposite the two.

"We saw you go off with Bill after Mum kicked us upstairs," Fred says, flipping through another stack beside him.

"Just getting to know him," I say. "I didn't know you even had another brother until today. When did you pass your Apparition exams?" I ask, changing the subject. Fred and George would be too amused with the idea of me threatening Bill, so I keep the nature of our talk to myself.

"About a month ago," Fred replies.

"Passed with flying colours," George adds. Their tones are lacking their usual good humour. Both brothers are glued to their stacks of paper. I can't see from my spot exactly what they say.

What're those about?"

"Estimations," Fred answers, a hint of frustration in his tone. "On what it'll cost to start up our business, and between buying a shop somewhere, and ingredients besides…"

"…even with Harry's Triwizard earnings, we don't have enough," George says, "no matter how we look at it."

"How much are you short?" I ask, looking at the long lists of figures they're staring at.

"Another half again of what Harry gave," Fred says grimly.

"We'll raise the funds, of course," George concedes. "It just means we will be saving for that much longer before we can really launch our business."

"Would you consider accepting a loan?" I ask quietly, picking up a sheet of parchment to view. I'm careful to avoid the word 'donation,' remembering how they shied away from it when Harry offered them the use of his winnings.

"Even if you had that sort of money to loan us, we can't accept that from you," Fred says dismissively.

"Yes, you could," I argue, "if you made me partner."

They both look away from the estimations at that. "Partner?"

"Well, if it's that terrible of a prospect, to partner with me," I say testily, "you could always buy out my share of the business once it takes off and be rid of me. At least this way, you can start up right away – or right after this year," I amend.

"Would you really?" George asks in disbelief.

I nod. "Five hundred galleons, for twenty-five percent?"

"Agreed," they say in unison, with only a little hesitation. They extend their hands to shake. I do, then stand up.

"Goodnight, then," I say, ready for bed after my long day.

"Goodnight, partner," they say cheerfully, before turning back to their papers with renewed vigour.

Out in the hallway, Sirius' house-elf is making his way towards the stairway. "Good night, Kreacher," I say politely. The elf looks at me in shock, clearly unsure as to how he should respond. I wonder if anyone bothers to stop to have a conversation with him ever. Having seen the brusque way Sirius orders him about, I doubt it.

After a moment's pause, Kreacher decides against speaking, and hurries back on his way downstairs. I slip into Hermione's and Ginny's room.

Ginny and Hermione are both asleep when I reach the room, and with a little stumbling in the unfamiliar dark room, I find my bed quite successfully, only managing to stub one of my toes in the process. I don't imagine I'll be able to fall asleep right away after all the excitement of the day, but as tired as I am, I drift off almost immediately, into a deep, dreamless slumber.


	36. Prefects

Prefects

I wake up in a shuttered, unfamiliar room sometime the next morning. After a second of panic, I remember I'm at 12 Grimmauld Place and not Fleur's, and I sink back into the covers.

"What time is it?" I ask sleepily, turning my head in the direction of Hermione's and Ginny's beds. Only there's no other beds in the room, and I sit up quickly at the realization.

Looking around, I quickly realize that I've never seen this room before in my life. The dark green curtain hanging in front of the window blocks all light except a small slit that the curtain doesn't reach, where the tiniest rays escape into the room. Using the feeble light, I examine my surroundings, more than a little scared.

The room is painted in Slytherin colours, dark green and silver decorating the entire room. A fireplace sits opposite the bed, lined with faded newspaper clippings. I lean forward, trying to read the writing, and notice a picture among the articles. It's obviously a photograph of a Quidditch team, though in the dark I can't make out faces, or which team they play for.

I'm sitting on the bed, leaned forward like that when the door creaks open.

"Master?" a raspy, thin voice croaks. I look over to the doorway to find Kreacher paused there with wide eyes, his hand still on the doorknob. He's more alert in that moment than I've ever seen him.

"No," I say hastily, rising to my feet. "Sorry, I don't know how I've gotten here…must've been sleepwalking or something."

He slumps when he realizes it's only me. "The others are at breakfast," he says dully. "Master Sirius says to find you and tell you, there's an owl with a letter for you in the kitchen."

"Thank you," I say, getting to my feet. "Could you tell me how to get to the room I'm supposed to be in?"

"Three floors down," Kreacher responds awkwardly, after a slight hesitation.

"Thank you," I say again, and when he just stares at me, I slip past him and down the stairs, three flights down, where I find the drawing room and bedroom from yesterday, just like the house-elf said. I slip out of my pajamas and into an old pair of jeans worn through one knee, and my even rattier used-to-be-white sweater before climbing down two more flights of stairs to the kitchen.

Everyone else is already assembled, and judging by the grins all around the table, I've missed something.

"Congratulations, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims, hugging her son enthusiastically. "That's everyone in the family!"

"Hey!" the twins say together indignantly.

"What are we," George says, "next-door neighbours?"

"Good morning, Ari," Sirius says, noticing me at the stairs.

"Good morning," I reply. "What's going on?"

"Ron and Hermione have been named prefects," Mrs. Weasley beams. "The news came today with their school supplies lists!"

"Wow, congratulations, guys," I say, impressed. Harry, I notice, is doing his best to look happy for the others, but his smile isn't quite reaching his eyes.

"Thanks!" they beam. Hermione seems to remember something then. "Where did you go to this morning?" she asks, as I take a seat across from her.

"Oh," I say vaguely, "just wandering about."

"You should be careful," Sirius says at that, "this place has stood empty for many years, and we've been finding all sorts of creatures, hexes, and all the rest in different rooms."

"I didn't find anything like that," I assure him. "Say, whose room is the one on the top floor? The one done up in Slytherin colours?"

My question seems innocent enough, until Sirius answers, his expression darkening. "That was my brother Regulus's room. He was sorted into Slytherin House. Mum and Dad were so proud of him; the selfish little git could do no wrong."

I don't know what to say to that, and the table grows quiet in the face of Sirius's blackened mood. I'm sorry I asked in the first place.

"Hey, you've got a letter from Hogwarts, too," Fred interrupts, cutting through the awkward silence.

"Oh," I say, snapping my attention to the envelope. "It's probably just my OWL results."

When I open the envelope, I covertly sneak the supplies list into the envelope as I unfold the second page.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

**_Pass Grades_**

OUTSTANDING (O)

EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS (E)

ACCEPTABLE (A)

**_Fail Grades_**

POOR (P)

DREADFUL (D)

TROLL (T)

ARIELLE ROWENA ARCTURUS MAVROS HAS ACHIEVED:

O – CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES

O – CHARMS

E – HERBOLOGY

D – HISTORY OF MAGIC

E – STUDY OF ANCIENT RUNES

O – TRANSFIGURATION

"Wow," Fred says from my right side, "way to go, Ari."

"Let's see," Hermione says, and the others study my paper on the other side of the table. "Well done," she says, handing the paper to Mrs. Weasley. "I can't wait to take mine this year. Such important tests – it's quite exciting."

"That's one way to look at it," Fred says drily.

"I'd say," George replies, looking at Hermione like she's sprouted another head.

"I wish I was already done my OWLs," Ron says, face falling for a moment.

"Me too," I say, "I've still got Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts to take."

"Well done, dear!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims, having looked at my results. "You should be very proud of yourself."

"No one will blame you for the Dreadful result in History of Magic," George says with a grin. "Everyone just sleeps through that class anyway."

"I don't," Hermione interjects. I laugh at that, because of course she doesn't. She's probably the only one who faithfully jots down all the proper dates in Professor Binns's class.

"Arcturus?" Sirius asks, taking his turn with the paper. I nod, not sure why the name has grabbed his interest, other than it being odd. I find out, though, as he continues. "Unusual, though I suppose it's gotten quite common. It's been a popular family name for generations, though as the Black family tree has branched out over the years, it's popped up in many other family records. Do you know if you're some sort of distant cousin at all?"

"No idea," I say, remembering my frustration at the futility of my search earlier this summer.

"Rowena is an old family name, too," Mrs. Weasley muses, shovelling scrambled eggs onto my plate. "Though that's a Ravenclaw choice. Eat up, dears, I believe you'll be cleaning out the sunroom on the third floor today. If you all give me your school lists, I'll pick it all up today when I go. Ari, you, too – you'll have to tell me what you need, though – I have no idea what sorts of things Beauxbatons students are required to bring."

I nod, my full mouth saving me from answering her in front of the others. The table carries an easy conversation as we all eat, quieting only once we're all finished.

"Well," Sirius says moodily. "The sooner we get at that sunroom, the sooner we'll be finished. Kreacher…Kreacher!" The elf, however, doesn't show.

"Ari, would you mind just opening up his door and ordering him out?" Sirius says, exasperated.

I get up from my spot near the end and approach the fireplace. Hesitantly, I turn the little doorknob and push the door open. I barely glance inside – noticing only the dank, dark interior and a small nest of rags in one corner before Kreacher is suddenly blocking my view. I back up so he can come out, though he closes the door quickly before I can see anything else.

Kreacher climbs up on the bench to reach the dishes as the others clamber up the stairs. The poor creature can hardly reach the dishes, and I lag behind as the others head upstairs, gathering the plates nearest me.

"He can do it. Not much else he's good for," Sirius says rudely.

"I don't mind helping," I say, my own voice defensive.

"Kreacher can do his own work," Kreacher says to me, eyes narrowed.

"I know," I placate him. "But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone. I'll be up shortly," I say to Sirius, who shrugs uncaringly and heads up to join the others.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, about to head to town, turn to follow.

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley," I say, pulling out my list. "If you wouldn't mind picking up these for me, I'd be grateful." I already have most of the supplies, other than the new _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_, and a book called _Defensive Magical Theory_.

"Of course! I'd almost forgot," she says, taking the list. The insignia on the list doesn't escape her notice, and she raises her eyes to mine in question.

"Don't say anything to the others yet," I implore her. "It's a surprise, see."

"Of course," she says kindly.

"Have a good day at work," I tell Mr. Weasley, who gives a little wave as he and his wife hurry off; him to work, and Mrs. Weasley to do all our shopping.

I return to stacking dirty plates, and Kreacher narrows his gaze at me.

"Kreacher isn't needing the lady's help," he says gruffly.

"I know," I say, repeating my earlier words, "and I'm doing it anyway."

We work in silence, Kreacher washing the plates and dishes, and I dry while he does. When they're all stacked neatly on the countertop, I step back.

"I don't know where they go," I say. "I'll leave the rest, then."

"Thank you," he says grudgingly, the first polite words I've heard him utter.

"You're welcome," I say, a smile stretching across my face. I bound up the stairs to the third floor to join the others, where, it turns out, they're throwing sopping sponges at another, a task I happily join in on.

I'm in a good mood still when I slip into bed that night and sleep as deeply as the night before.

I wake suddenly, however, in the middle of the night. It isn't long this time, before I recognize my surroundings as the Slytherin room on the top floor – Sirius's brother's room. I shiver, chilled at finding myself here again, and slip back down to my own bed without attracting attention.


	37. Ravenclaw

The next few days are divided between cleaning chores and general horseplay among us younger folk. Though I try several things, like sleeping on my other side, trading places with Hermione, and even tying my wrist to the bedframe, every night before dawn, I wake to find myself in the Slytherin room on the top floor. No one notices, however, other than Kreacher that firs time, and though it concerns me, I push the weird sleepwalking incidents to the back of my mind.

The Order holds another couple of meetings while I'm there, including one on the last afternoon before we are to return to school. It's at supper that night, after everyone's eaten, that Professor Moody, who had come over for the earlier meeting, beckons Harry over to sit by him. Most of the others are immersed in their own conversations, but I, tired out by the days chores, am half-listening to the others conversations, making no effort to join in any of them.

"Brought something with me," Moody tells Harry, pulling out a photograph. On the other side of the table, I don't see the front of it, but Lupin explains well enough I know what it is.

"The first Order of the Phoenix," he explains to Harry, gesturing at different people in the picture. "There are Frank and Alice Longbottom, in the front there," he points out. "There's Hagrid there, of course, beside Elphias Doge…next to him, that's Gideon Prewett, fought admirably, him. That pretty girl below them, in the front, see, that's Mary Porter, beside your parents…"

I'm leaping from my seat before he can finish his explanation, coming around to see for myself. "Where?" I gasp, but even as I'm speaking, I locate her in the front row, smiling sweetly.

Moody watches me with his funny eye. "She was in the year below Harry's parents – one of the best Charms students we ever had among our ranks. She made Head Girl in her year, one of the most brilliant witches I've ever met."

"That's my mother," I say, amazed to see her there, so young. Her blonde hair gleams like it used to there, obvious even though the picture is quite faded. "I've never seen a picture of her so young," I say. I'm captivated, watching the woman in the picture turn and laugh at something Lily Potter says.

Moody wordlessly hands me the picture, and both Harry and I stare at our parents, totally enthralled.

"What was she like?" I ask finally, looking back to Moody.

"Brilliant witch, as I said," he repeats. "She was Head Girl of her year, like I said, and a year below your parents, Harry, though they were friends despite the age gap. Mary was a quieter girl than you, quite intimidated, I think, of her father. I've never been able to figure out if he was a Death Eater himself, or simply supported them. He pushed Mary into marriage the summer she left school, to Tomas Mavros, an older man who was a high-ranking Ministry official in his day. He – Tom, not her father – fed the Order information through Mary, though he was careful not to get his name involved with the organization. He thought it'd be safer than actually joining, though it wasn't in the end, not for him. He died in the war, I'm sure you know."

"That's about the only thing I do know," I say. "The information has been classified at the Ministry, and Mom won't permit me to see it. What do you mean, Mom was _pushed into marriage_?"

"Not directly, of course, but I don't think she would've married so quickly if she wasn't sp eager to escape her father's rule." Moody looks as though he wants to say something more, but Mrs. Weasley raises her voice at that moment.

"You children all have an early morning tomorrow. Best be off to bed now."

There are a few grumbles, but for the most part we amiably wander off. At the doorway to my room, George pauses.

"You never did say when you have to go back to Beauxbatons," he says. "Are you leaving tomorrow, too?"

"I am," I say with a smile, "but not for Beauxbatons. I asked Dumbledore this summer if it was possible for me to transfer schools before this year started, and he helped me arrange it all."

"And you didn't tell us?" Fred exclaims.

"It was going to be surprise," I shrug. Both of them jump at me excitedly, forming a sort of three-way bear hug.

The rest of the group all clamours around me, patting me on the back excitedly. Hermione is the first to pull away. "Mrs. Weasley is right, though," she says practically. "We should all get to bed."

Again, during the night, I wake up in the Slytherin room. I get back up and head down the stairs as I've gotten used to doing, when I run right into Mr. Weasley.

"What are you doing up here?" he asks in a stage whisper.

"I was just sleepwalking," I say, but George chooses that moment to exit his room, stopping suddenly when he sees us already out in the hall.

Mr. Weasley looks between the two of us, a look of understanding – a look of _mis_understanding – dawns on his face. He steps to the side so I can pass. "You'd best get back to bed, then," Mr. Weasley says sternly. "No more 'sleepwalking' tonight."

His gaze falls on George and visibly darkens. I can guess at what Mr. Weasley assumes was going on, most likely that I'd been on my way to meet up with George in the dark, and while it's certainly not true, it doesn't look good. Hoping Mr. Weasley isn't going to give George trouble over my sleepwalking, I slip past him and hurry down to my floor, where I crawl back into my bed and sleep until morning.


	38. The Hogwarts Express

The Hogwarts Express

"Ari, wake up!" I vaguely hear someone shouting. "Ari!"

I open my eyes to find Hermione standing over me, shaking my shoulder.

"What?" I say grumpily, speaking into my pillow.

"We've slept in!" she says frantically. "Hurry, we're going to miss the train!"

Still half-asleep, I leap from the bed and pull on the first outfit I pull from the trunk at the foot of my bed.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Hermione asks, busily brushing out her thick hair.

I look down at myself, and notice I've put on an orange top with green pants, and mismatching socks; one red, one white. "Oh," I say. "Whatever. I'll be changing into my robes on the train anyway."

Ginny giggles, and the three of us lug our trunks out into the hall. "Watch out!" someone shouts from behind us. I instinctively duck; however, Ginny isn't so quick and a flying trunk crashes into her and sends her toppling down the stairs.

"You IDIOTS!" Mrs. Weasley's voice is heard from the bottom of the staircase. "YOU DON'T NEED TO USE YOUR WANDS FOR EVERY LITTLE THING! YOUR SISTER COULD'VE BEEN SERIOUSLY HURT!"

The shouting awakens Walburga Black's portrait, and her wailing joins the strain. 'FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS –"

" – COULD HAVE BEEN SERIOUSLY HURT –"

" – DEFILING MY PROUD AND NOBLE HOME!"

We all look at each other, unsure as to whether or not we want to wade into the fray. When I meet George's eye, he quickly glances away. "They're not going to magically stop while we stand here," he says pragmatically.

"Maybe your sense of style will shock her into silence," Fred tells me with a smirk.

We grit our teeth and start down. I wonder about George's discomfort this morning, wonder what Mr. Weasley said to him last night. I sort of wished I'd had an Extendable Ear on me at the time. Sirius is there waiting to say goodbye, though only Harry pauses in the uproar to say a proper goodbye.

"FILTHY MUDBLOODS! MUGGLE-BORN FILTH, IN MY FATHER'S HOUSE –"

"COME ON, COME ON," Mrs. Weasley is shouting over the portrait. "WE'RE LATE AS IT IS!"

We all tumble out of the house in a hurry, Sirius's mother's screams chasing us into the sun. There are three taxicabs lined up at the front of the property. "This was so much easier when your father was on the Ministry's good side," she laments, to no one in particular. There's a jumble of confusion as we all toss our belongings into trunks and backseats. The cabdrivers, understandably bewildered, peel away from the curb when Mrs. Weasley gives the signal, obviously eager to drop off our odd crowd.

We make good time as a result, and rush through King's Cross Station with our trunks together. The first couple through – Harry and Hermione – simply run straight through the divider between platforms nine and ten. I look to Fred, who's beside me, in uncertainty.

"Platform nine-and-three-quarters," he says, nodding encouragingly. "Might want to close your eyes the first time – it's an odd sensation."

Ginny and Ron go through first, then the twins pause to let me go ahead. "Thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," I say, glancing back at her.

"Of course, dear," she beams. "You'd better hurry, now, or you'll miss the train!"

I turn back to the wall and pick up my speed, closing my eyes as I get close to it. A cool breeze on my face makes me open my eyes, and I find myself standing in front of another train entirely, quickly joined by Fred and George.

"Come on," Fred yells. "Better hurry – it's leaving!"

So we dash for the entrance, the last of us hardly up inside the train before it begins to move.

"That's the closest we've ever been to missing it," George muses.

"Harry and Ron actually did, their second year," Fred reminds him with a snigger. "Thought Dad was going to kill him when he noticed the car was missing. Come on, then," he says, nodding to me, "you can sit in with us and Lee. It will be a good chance to talk business before there are Professors breathing down our necks."

They lead me over to a compartment, where Lee Jordan is already stretched out, his feet resting on the seat opposite. He straightens when we enter.

"You've sure grown up," he says in approval to me. "Hey – what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Transferred," I say simply, taking the seat across from him and next to the window. "You can put your feet back, I don't mind."

"Don't get too comfy," Fred warns his friend. "We're going to hammer out a few details now, before we reach Hogwarts."

Lee glances furtively at me, and Fred shakes his head. "It's okay," he reassures Lee, "she's one of us now."

"Awesome," Lee says, not at all bothered by my inclusion. "Have we figured out a way to get more testers for the Skiving Snackboxes?" he asks, leaning forward.

"Here's my idea…" Fred begins, and the rest of the ride is filled both with surprisingly serious businesslike talk, and the wisecracking humour I've come to expect from the three of them.

George, I've noticed, however, does his best to avoid eye contact with me, and I'm sure it's because of last night. I'll have to find time to clear things up with him and apologise for getting him into trouble with his dad.

It isn't long before we're getting off at the Hogsmeade station, though. A clear, high voice that I recognize as Professor Grubbly-Plank's rings out. "If all the first years could make their way over to me," she calls out, "we will head across the lake straightaway."

Her gaze falls on me. "Ah, yes. I've been told you're recently transferred here, and I'm to offer you a chance to travel across the lake with the other new students."

"No, thank you," I say hastily, only partly because I don't want to be lumped with a bunch of year ones. I've been borderline-terrified of deep water since a mishap involving a canoe when I was ten. I've avoided large amounts of water ever since. Even hot tubs set me a little on edge.

"Very well," she replies. "Just take a carriage with the others, then. First years, to me!"

I join up with Harry and Neville, who are just passing by me. I've lost Lee and the twins somewhere in the bustling crowd.

"Hi, Neville. How were your holidays? Where's Ron and Hermione?" I ask them, falling into step with the boys.

"Good, thank you," Neville stutters out.

"Prefect duties," Harry says dully.

"Sounds like a lot of boring responsibility," I say flippantly, noting his withdrawn mood.

Before anything more can be said, the carriages come into view at the edge of the path to Hogwarts.

"What are those things pulling the carriages?" I ask, stopping in my tracks. They're almost horse like creatures, and yet they're not at all similar. These beasts look like they're skeletons with dark coats stretched over their bones, and their reptilian heads sport pure white eyes. Like Abraxans, they have wings, though these beasts' are leathery like a bat's.

"Dunno," Harry says, just as confused as I am. "Never seen them before."

Neville, however, is completely lost. "Seen what before?" he asks, his eyes darting back and forth in front of us.

"Those weird horses," I say to him, pointing at one. "They're pulling the carriages."

"There's nothing there," Neville manages, looking around nervously. I furrow a brow at him – he's looking right at one, so I don't know how he's missing it.

"I can see them, too," a musical voice says, floating out from inside the nearest carriage. "Don't worry, you're no crazier than I am."

Neville scrambles up into the carriage, and Harry and I follow suit after one last look at the strange creatures. Once we're inside, the carriage jerks into motion.

"Harry, Ari, this is Luna Lovegood," Neville says, obviously familiar with her. "She's a year below us, and in Ravenclaw," he explains.

Harry and I shake her hands and introduce ourselves. She stares at me with a funny, knowing look on her face as we fall into silence. Uncomfortably, Harry speaks up. "I wonder why Hagrid wasn't there to meet the first years," he says curiously.

"I'm glad he's not around," Luna says, in that same melodic dreamy tone. "He's an awful teacher."

"No, he isn't," Harry and I both say at once, though he is much more fierce in tone. Nothing about the blonde girl opposite us doesn't strike me as malicious, despite her words.

"Well," she says simply, "we in Ravenclaw all agree, he's something of a joke to us."

"Well, your sense of humour is trash," Harry retorts defensively.

Luna is unbothered by Harry's anger, and turns to look out the window. "Oh. Here we are."


End file.
